So … I’m sitting (literally)in the fields of Normandy…I went down the lane at 5 o’clock to face the setting sun. Behind me, a WALL of blooming honeysuckle, full of such sweet fragrance … in front of me, the SUN … corn fields … private fenced gardens, and me …
I brought a chilled Chardonnay, sat for an hour, toasted the All That Is, and reveled in the great goodness of my life. It’s not glamorous. Or pretentious. It’s simply real. Visceral. Grounded in Earth and Sky.
The poplars, en fait all the trees, are rustling dry in the soft wind offered up by the fields …
All Is Well in Montanel …
