Ten days in the little village, and now, to leave, my heart aches. I have fallen in love with your little streets, your ancient church open to the public, where I sang alone one afternoon. With the 15th century house where I composed, slept, ate, worked in the garden; the cat with whom I fell in love. The many friends, the long endless delicious meals and so much exquisite wine. The rides en velo, walks, the run through vineyards. All the crazy parties where I understood only a few words, and then later, understood more. Living a simpler life, and being calm as a result. Connecting to the outside world for pleasure, not obligation. Working long hours writing, and then, when I was done, being done. Cooking a meal; taking an excursion, writing a long letter, doing the laundry. Yes, there were many times of indecision; but there were also times of decisiveness. Most of all, there was clarity of mission. During the week: to write. On the weekend, to relax.
Grateful for the friends I made, and for the piece I wrote in this beautiful little town.
