
I've discovered many paths on the edges of the villages that propel me into nature. I look forward to seeing a special tree, check out how a meadow's flowers are advancing, the horses, the state of grapes in a vineyard, what the sky looks like against the mountains, which seem to change colour with the light. During the half hour to hour I am ambling, I also find myself writing in my head, much like I did when I went to a 9to5 prison, but instead of having to wait until after supper to put down what I want on paper I can do it whenever I climb back into my loft.
Of course, there are the days when I return from my walk and I pass La Noisette and see friends of misc. nationalities the only sensible thing to do is to sit and have a cup of tea with them and a good natter.

When I am at a café I will read the French papers if no one else is around, but I seldom buy papers, but a friend gave me a copy of the Sunday Times. What luxury to be in my pjs with my tea and oatmeal and turn page after page.
Of course I loved the headline that said "Obama Offers Freedom from American Stupidity." Okay, the paper was after the convention.
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