french bloom

  

day after day of waking up minutes before the sun, my ever-early internal clock. i cannot seem to escape this, even on holiday.
but a refreshing feeling to peer out at the horizon from my perched mattress, out into the air so soft my skin tingles. okay it's time to get up. sand keeps getting in the sheets, and i crunch my softened salted hair, but always clean faces, bare faces.

france was HOT and then it was just right. and then spain was only for a day or two, until we needed the pines and the surf again. every day we would drink tiny afternoon beers followed by nightly bottles of wine, you just can't help yourself here.
he drove and drove and i mostly pronounced things wrong, and the waiters just smiled because at least i was trying. we said, let's just not go back. but we did come home, eventually, and the moon was big by then.