The woman sat in her kitchen with its window looking out on the marché. She was peeling potatoes for lunch and her friends were leaning against the house talking to her. Next door the smell of cooking onions and meet wafted out.
The flower dealer had deep purple iris in a vase that seemed more beautiful than the tiger lilies and mixed bouquets, but I decided not to buy anything because I am heading home to Geneva tomorrow.
The mini-vacation down here has been fun, but I am looking forward to a master writing class, a meeting with a political party that wants to sell its message and a dance performance by my Indian family.
I need to do some work on my web site and I need a long walk along the lake even if there’s no woman peeling potatoes sitting in her kitchen window.
She would make a good painting by Vermer or Chadin.
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