From Provence

A speed train is like a memory as it comes and goes. Still in mind are simple pleasures like eating a croissant in a window mid-day. Content overlooking a tree, the shade of sage green, flickering with winks of silver. Three birds sit on a church ledge for show. We are all staring at a wall so magnificent you would never grow tired of looking. When you are made of stone and marble all excess falls to the side. So strange to watch trees sway on a cliff overlooking the sea. A castle for no one to visit this season. Beach pebbles so smooth you won't even mind. A road winding with grapes. The sun knows which fields are best for hats. I want to live where the olive trees are.

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