May 1 2013

We are between valleys and are at the peak of our lives.

This morning we left the Luberon Valley, left the village, the house and the crest. Left the flowering Judas trees and wild, prolific lilac, the spearing irises and potent mimosa; all those colors piercing the grey sky, their scents mixing with the eau de rain. One more breakfast of croissants stuffed with goat cheese and lavender honey and then the last goodbyes to friends and shopkeepers. Even the neighborhood cats strolled by the kitchen; a last show-off for our departure. We cried along with the rain.

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And then, as is the way of life, we moved forward; Lourmarin, Aix en Provence, Nice, Monaco off to the side, and then that sign:  “Italia.” We put Maria Callas in the CD slot and let her peel off our skin, let her break our hearts and wept with every impossible note scaled.

Now we are at rest in Camoglie, a sweet seaside town on the Ligurian Coast. We’ve switched from merci to grazie and the sea, lapping beneath our window, seems as natural as evening birdsong in the valley that was our home sweet home these last four months.

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Tomorrow, the Val d’Arbia: valley of our wedding; valley of our primitive love. Huzzahs and Hosanas! Hoorays and Hallelujahs! We bow to this great universe in awe and gratitude.


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