La Belle Brocante

Wistful

Small details.

Worn to perfection.

My heart wanders.

 

xoxo

 

 

In the Time of Cholera

The cemetery was abandoned in the 1800s.

Most of the gravestones and markers have crumbled, chipped away by winter winds and rain.

The few that remain pay tribute to the lives lost too soon to cholera.

Dry leaves crunch underfoot.

A feral cat slinks along the shadow of the wall.

Hush.

 

Brocante Companion

There are a thousand and one dogs at the brocante.

This little fellow was my absolute favourite.

The missing tooth.

The pirate bandanna.

Those eyebrows!

 

xoxo

 

Lost

A little broken-hearted.

A little left behind.

A little lost.

Scattered across continents.

I wait.

 

xoxo

 

 

Porte de Cimetière

A Charm All Its Own

Imperfect.

Honest.

But with a good heart.

That's enough for me.

 

Cimetière

A little sadness mixed with hope. 

And in my mind's eye I turn towards the sun.

Walk the stone steps.

Listen to the doves as the morning light hits the hillside.

I am a stranger.

And I am home.

 

Postcards From Another Town

Drive for an hour to a neighbouring town and you might as well land on the moon. So close, yet worlds apart. Honeyed stone. Wider streets with central gutters, room for the cars to roar past without clipping your shins. Except the cars probably do not roar in this genteel place. Tidy facades, with shutters the colour of money.

The vendor at the brocante is selling a très rare postcard for 15 euros, a stack of identical postcards in his other hand. 

Lots of looking today. A cool drink. Beautiful surroundings and a breathtaking view across the valley.

But non, merci, no postcards.

 

 

Boulangerie

Where My Heart Dwells

A staircase of a street. Stone arches stop the buildings from tumbling together. Vines cling to the cracks in the mortar. Limestone. Everywhere limestone.