summer
As I was preparing for this post - my final one in collaboration with MelkMoment - I was sure what it would be about. The bright colors, the blossoms in the photographs and the lightness in my voice ... after what seems like a very long series of moody posts, everything in this one would point to a new beginning.
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Sometimes my mind just shuts down. It spits and sputters and suddenly I'm incapable of making even the most menial of decisions. I don't know what to make for dinner, can't think of a proper response to an email and sure as hell can't come up with anything creative. Whatever I do, I draw a blank.
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Just like that, it's the end of September again. For all the time I've spent outside these past few months - sitting in the garden, hiding in the woods, rummaging through my parents' overgrown vegetable patch - I've been strangely oblivious to the changing of the seasons. The last thing that really registered with me was coming home to plum and fig trees filled with ripe fruit at the end of June.
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I think it's been established that I'm a breakfast person. Mostly because that short, slow hour of coffee and solitarity is integral to my sanity, but probably also because it's the only time of day when you can eat something sweet and actually call it a meal. Smoothies, yogurt bowls, French toast, cake or leftover pie ... if it's sweet and delicious, I'm happy to call it breakfast.
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It must've been around 5 pm when we arrived. Nicole's house was located on the edge of the Fôret d'Ermenonville, in one of those tiny little French villages that consists of little more than a dozen grey-walled houses lined along a single street, and the last few kilometers, even after a full day of cycling, had been pure bliss. [...]
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We've been through this, you and I. We know the drill. You throw things at me; I hustle and try not to drop anything. Things like birthday cakes and garden parties and get-togethers and assignments and travel plans. Fun things. Exciting things.
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