Fields and Streets

The vacation is over. It was a good time.
It started over there and ended here.

I drove ten thousand miles on chicago city streets, now I ready to attack ten thousand souche on the Larzac rise. In the meantime, among other delicious things, I’ve eaten carne asada and fois gras both made with grandmother hands. I’ve woken on snowy days and hot mornings. I haven’t been out of sight of friends or family or other loving beings for 16 straight days. The good times are wearing me down.

I like waking up to find my dream has finally changed, consequently I’m happy to be going back into the vines. I’ve forgotten, or at least misplaced for the moment, the fact that the vines are brutal. Like a party that doesn’t end, they wear you down until you are broken with fatigue, and longing the finish. But that’s at the end of the dream, and tomorrow is just the beginning.

Early morning sunrises with the view to the sea on the rise to Larzac Plateau. The sky and it’s weather in myriad flowing patterns. The order and potential of freshly tailled fields. Lunchtime naps in a car warmed with the sun. Yes it’s all good in the beginning.

Happy new year.