[A tree frog]
At times, the tiniest things can make our day.
Puces des sables [sand fleas] jumping from one castle to another. Clouds made of clay (at Anna-Sarah’s shop where I’m writing from almost daily).
Don't you love memories ?
Bonjour juin
[Hello June]
May has been a little crazy. Of the runs in the park slash flight to France slash rosé et mauresque with Anna-Sarah (every single night) slash book writing slash turning my kitchen into a mess to the point of no return slash painting on porcelain plates kind.
Les vagues
[The waves]
I drove along the coast on Sunday. It was raining. Of the fast windscreen wipers kind. And the wind would push waves on the road.
I stopped. And my cheeks turned pink.
Bonjour avril
[Hello April]
My weeks have been made of Sundays lately. And it really feels like walking with my eyes closed and crossing my fingers at every step I take.
Not unlike getting lost.
Through the wrong end of a telescope
I look through the window. And this is all I see. Rain and trees that snow.
The very spectacle of April happening before my eyes. But no matter how breathless it makes me feel – every single year – I somehow wish for more.
Bonjour mars, au revoir mars
[Hello March, goodbye March]
I’ve felt raindrops running through my hair; and my dress too. I’ve made a cake. And another one too.
I’ve seen blossoms on every tree. I’ve walked in empty avenues, with my eyes closed and his hand on mine.
She fell in love with…
A rainbow kind of sky, as seen from my bike. It was so beautiful it made me question my love for dawn over sunset.
Ohhh such important matters…
The daily fix
I wake up to the shy sound of a detuned French radio. And leave a half-drank latte – stay put – on the kitchen table. Off on my favourite hollandais bike.
It rattles, unexpectedly.
A bicyclette
[On a bicycle]
I’ve been riding my bicycle through the beach, and putting tray after tray of madeleines in the oven. It smells lovely around here. Of warm butter and vanilla.
You should come.
There are only so many things I know
Yes, there are only so many things I know.
Making wishes, of the fairylike kind. The taste of his lips; and the feeling in my stomach that it’s all just like a dream.
PS. I felt like cake; made one and ate a slice.
A friend, of the dear-to-my-heart kind, made this cake today. A few thousands of kilometres away. And I did too. In ten minutes, from cupboards to oven*.
It was eaten on the couch.
Only in dreams
A dream crossed of the list. On Saturday night. It was late. Much too late to be awake, really. I was wearing my favourite leopard leggings and a thick wool dress.
Bonjour février
[Hello February]
It seems like those winter days I longed so much for have finally decided to pop by. Yes, it was cold today. Of the frostbites and hot chocolates kind.
I opened the door to a package made of Impossible film.
She fell in love with…
PS. Not of the one thousand and six hundred pounds kind (dreams). More of the tilt my own lens in front of the sensor. And yet, it feels just right.
Goodbye, hello
I walked along the Thames. On the very firt morning of 2011. And saw a balloon floating along. And a French bakery.
I drank lattes. Waiting for them to cool down, with the wind and cold.
You’re my favourite flavour
One day I will tell you why I’ve been so quiet this past month. Right now, it all gets down to my bed, a virus, a bottle of water, and way too many pills for one girl to take.
On breakfast for dinner – Bacon and egg sandwich
When home means finally-untangled hair, the sound of waves that won’t quit our minds – oh and of the shower he’s into two-open-doors away while this song is playing on repeat, only rain hitting the skylight is missing for the orchestra.