I am lost in the blooming hills of Provence,

learning the simplicity of being human,

passing the afternoons with bread and wine,

humming with little french songbirds,

tracing paths of stone,

listening to old men with crinkly smiles,

 my hair is blowing in the wind,

and I wonder how a place so very old

can make someone feel so very new.

Arles/Glanum

Arles and Glanum.

stony abyss.

ancient turquoise springs that the greeks said to be blessed by the nymphs,

dipping my toes,
hoping it will cure me of sleepless nights.

we could be heroes.
just for one day.

Gorges Du Verdon

we climbed high.

tracing fingers along celtic walls,

so far that the mountain mist kissed our eyelashes.

huddling with bread and fruit in a cave.

listening to little drops fall.
 down our cheeks, down the mountain.
As if they had been falling for centuries.

Luberon

It is becoming spring in France.
printemps.
each intake of air leaving us all a little more alive,
breathing florid euphoria,
wandering down the winding streets of the Luberon region.
befriending strangers and allowing them to change me.
forgetting myself.
remembering myself.
asking myself
 how it is even possible
to be lost and found at the same time.