I experienced one of those rare times that I am alone in the car today. It was so quiet and therefore my mind could focus on the beauty surrounding me as I neared our village. The distant mountains were veiled by a thin, gray, misty fog. Their deep, dark green was still visible and gave them a mystical appearance. Our village, with the clay colored rooftops breaking up the sea of green of the fields and mountains, felt like home. It was a good feeling. Just as I entered our village, the rain began again. The main street is brick and I could see the raindrops splashing upon the street, while several people tried to seek shelter under the awning of the bakery.
I love the quaintness of the village. When I began my morning trip,
there was a break in the rain and one old gentleman in particular caught
my eye. He was riding his black bicycle down the center of the street,
smiling, clearly enjoying the moment, not a care in the world. All the
little shops had their doors wide open, which feels like an invitation
to come in and see what there is to see.
In the middle of the leaving and returning home, I had the pleasure of
spending the in-between hours with a friend over coffee and croissants,
and then a visit to a yarn store. I feel rejuvenated, refreshed, and
ready to get back to the routine of life.