picaboo

I sit in the same position and at the same table as I did when I wrote my first blog post on my arrival to Saint Hilaire du Touvet. The table hasn’t changed… (maybe a little grubbier since I’ve been here), but as I look through the glass doors ahead of me, everything I see has changed. The dark, heavy clouds and constant drizzle of rain block my vision a little bit. I can faintly see the mountains in the distance – they are no longer white. I can finally see our neighbour's roof and the colour of the tiles on our back terrace. Our grass is green and overgrown, but the red tulips that are unevenly spread throughout the grass make up for it. Nearly five months have passed and much like my experience here, every day's outlook changes; not one day is the same as the last.

Not only is spring really here, but une fête de la musique begins this weekend in celebration of the first day of summer. I am imagining a large gathering of mountain people dancing naked around a giant, communal stone BBQ grasping their trumpets in one hand and a gypsy child in the other. As the crowd chants songs of rejoice, free daisy chains are being passed around.

I will go with my harmonica in one pocket and my pocketknife in the other.



Noe under the summer sun learning how to 'picaboo!'