It's hard to be going to work today. I've had a week of being on a different schedule, one I chose rather than one that is imposed upon me, and I just don't wanna. I will go, however, since there is a paycheck waiting there for me and only a total fool would abandon a paycheck. I sat on the patio to do my prompt writing this morning and I could easily have stayed right there throughout the day, writing and knitting and reading--with breaks for lunch and a nap, of course.
June 1--Paul Cezanne, Mont Sainte Victoire. Julia couldn't believe her eyes when she got up and went out onto the terrace with her coffee. They had arrived late the night before and only saw what their headlights touched. That was unreal enough but this view was a showstopper. Marcel and Liesl had raved for years about the little village where they met but Julia had always thought that their words were colored by infatuation. But standing there gazing down the valley in the morning light she had to concede that they were right. The purple mountain in the distance wore vineyards up to its shoulders, with a gray-green olive grove on one side like a brooch. The houses, painted in the colors of the sun, were sprinkled across the valley floor amid flower gardens and vegetable patches. Even the air smelled of baking bread, herbs, and lavender. She heard Tom's footfall as he came out of the villa. "I think I might like it here," she said, not turning from the view. He grunted.
Hey, it's June! Holy carp.
--Barbara
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