Found objects are located in most corners. You never know what sort of knick-knacks will turn up. A ceramic jug from a local artist. Novels in French, Dutch, English and German gather on the tables. This is a place where light comes from scattered lamps, rather than overhead illumination.
My bed is like a pit of quicksand. So simple, so tempting, and once you're in there, you're never going to get out. I gathered the European pillows around me, making a nest, and slept the sleep of the dead.
I was woken by the church bells ringing outside my windows. How rude.
Night is heralded by the murmuration of the starlings, their eternal Mobius loops over the skies of Sommieres has been happening for an eternity. They give a rhythm and a permanence to the place.
Life is simple here. Bread, fresh, comes from the bakery. The orange juice is chilled but freshly squeezed.
We won't talk about the butter. I would marry the butter. I don't know what they do with it, but it's the most amazing thing in the world.
Writing this, I'm at my little desk in my room in what I call the Fairy Fort - or le donjon du fees. (The fairy's tower).
My suite, and it is a suite, has a king-sized bed, and a large bathroom, with a bath, the size of which would fit my flat at home. The cotton bed linen has been ironed. The windows are open to let in the breeze.
There is a day bed, on which I will read later.
And in my fantasy world, I would live here year-round. Yes, it would get bloody cold in Winter, and they need a couple of cats to keep the occasional garden rodent at bay. A big, friendly dog wouldn't go astray either.
But yeah, in my fantasy world, this would be home.
It is for four days.
That will have to suffice.
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