Note #2 – On heart-shaped dreams

“I am just a dreamer, and but you are such just a dream.” — Neil Young That moment when I’m going all tumblr-ish on you. Yes, it’s time for it. PS. And the worst part is: it’s not over. PS bis. You can thank the amazing type-writer. PS (the last one). What’s your all-time favourite love/dream quote/poems/line?

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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…

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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. And the brake feels ever too fierce. But it takes me to the market. And the little fort by the beach; the one at the end of the stony trail. I ...

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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.

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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. The smell of fresh yeast when brioche is being made. The beauty of fireflies around me. Being lost in the fog. The flavour of roasted rhubarb and melting vanilla ice-cream. Crab hunting ...

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PS. Just a breakfast…

It might be safe to say that, in a perfect world, this would be my breakfast. Everyday. That week in Fouras possibly was the closest I could get to perfection. A perfection that tasted damn good. Especially with a sprinkle of vanilla sugar. Perhaps, it was just a breakfast. But it certainly didn’t feel like a just kind of one. Have a lovely week-end. And ...

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Instants, dans la cuisine

[Moments, in the kitchen] Sat at the table for breakfast. A breakfast that smells of toast and salted butter – the one with crisp fleur de sel – and, of course, coffee. My grand-mère talks too much in the morning, but for all the gold in the world, I wouldn’t want to stop her from doing so. Her stories and her laughters. Our laughters, in ...

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A little sweller – Petits quatre-quarts, au chocolat ou pas

[Little poundcakes, with chocolate or not] It smells like the week-end around here. Actually, it’s been smelling like it for a week now. And boy, week-end does smell good. Just-brewed coffee and toasted baguettes. Roast vegetables and fish caught the night before. Soup and summer tart; perhaps with a handful of late raspberries, or a plum compote. At times, it even smells of sand, and ...

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Les jonchées

fromager/crémier (the first, in front of the main entrance) rue de la halle, 17450 fouras I could list the places I belong to. But, at the end, it would just be a meaningless thread of city names, and at times, neighbourhood or county names. What I find interesting is the very reason why we belong to a place. A person we love, or many of ...

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The smell of the ocean

Today, I booked a flight to a place I haven’t been in a year. But even with my eyes closed, I would still be able to ride my bike to the little fortress by the marais [marsh]. With the sound of the wind through the wheels as the only music, and the smell of the ocean écume [froth] as the only perfume. And I can’t wait ...

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