First morning in Normandy

Friday,december 18
This morning, still jetlagged, and pretty late, I dragged myself out of the linen sheets in my sister's vaulted ceiling attic bedroom, and my first move was to look up at the skylight, to discover a blue sky and the tree tops, bare limbs, an intricate weaving of silver gray twigs stroked by the winter sun, that mark the entrance to the Belleme forest.

Then sitting on the rustic bistrot table in the veranda, I enjoyed a slow breakfast, a big bowl of black coffee and tartines with real butter, and a big jar of thick, creamy homemade jam.

Looking at the garden bathed by the sun, I listened to the satyrical news talk show on the radio

-a real delight of incessant wit and disrespectful jesting, the boldness of which I had almost forgotten-

This is like being on another planet.