On a walk…

I’m going for a walk. My eyes are open. The crisp air is satisfying.

Somewhere, smack dab in the middle of the south of France, there exists a small village (see below) that has been a second home to me for over 20 years.


When I first stepped foot in Aigremont, there were but 300 full-time residents. Today, two decades later, the village, which remains awfully small, has yet doubled in size.


As I walk through the patchwork fields in its vicinity, the village seems scrappy, nestled between my random souvenirs of the past and my high hopes for the future, and I hop over puddles of mud.


I spy wild boar tracks in the crusty dirt path that I follow blindly.

On a hill, under an immense sky, the panoramic landscape feels sublimely intense. The Mistral wind blows through the long grass before me.


Rows of wise grapevines twist under a setting sun.


Pruned branches are thick and rigid, a lifetime of sprouting upwards at right angles.


Olive leaves are two-toned, double-sided, appearing delicate with the robust winter cold – yet grow strong as their thirst perpetuates…

And I’m reminded of why it’s so hard to admit that I hate this place.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s