I longed for the authentic sights, sounds, smells and tastes of the world of my dreams. I'd close my eyes and breathe deeply, wondering what was wrong with me.
Saturday Mourning in Paris
Early this morning, I made my way down the stairs and looked out the back windows. I could see nothing beyond the terrace railings. Heavy fog blanketed the whole valley, reaching its fingers over the roof and around the stone walls of the cottage. The whiteness rested quietly and completely. I opened up the doors and stepped out. No … Continue reading Saturday Mourning in Paris