Mornings

"Sherlock, tu est beau." I couldn't see my pup. He had turned the corner. It was before 7 a.m. and I thought that we were the only people on the street, but Elisabeth was already setting out her fruits and veggies and complimenting Sherlock.

With Rick away, I was doing the first walks. There is a calm before 7 that will disappear quickly when the church bells ring, not just seven times but over 30. I don't know why, but it is reassuring.

Sometimes we hear the garbage trucks, sometimes we pass the Glutton cleaning up stray papers and dirt on the street, but not this morning.

The air was perfumed with the smell of baking bread from the many bakeries in town. This is France, so fresh baked bread is a necessity each day.

As we passed our favorite butcher, the smell of roasting chicken came through the door that was still locked. We buy most of our meat from this hard working couple, although sometimes we will patronize another.

After many cold mornings, it was nice to wear only a light sweatshirt.

Sherlock took his time, sniffing and leaving p-mails for his doggie friends and non friends. He finally found the right spot to donate more, which I scooped up with the black bag I carry for the purpose.

I heard a door open. The librarie (book store, news seller, etc.) rolled out his stand with the post and greeting cards. We nodded at each other.

I checked the movie theatre as we headed home to see if there was anything I wanted to see. There wasn't that day.

Another two corners to turn, and I was home. The smells of chicken and bread were still in the air.

Sherlock and I went back to bed for a snooze before breakfast.