The beach, etc.

My husband and I have been known to get up before dawn cracks to watch the sunrise over the Med. Sometimes we've taken croissants and champagne. We are alone with sand, sea and mountains.

More often we take the dog so he can do zoomies on the sand always avoiding any contact with the water. He enjoys checking out the smells where nature is protected (photo above). His appreciation for the scenery is unknown, but his happiness at his freedom is obviously unlimited.

This morning, we were too late for the sunrise, but not too late to enjoy the breeze, the view of the mountains and the intense color every where.

Sand castles have been left by yesterdays beach goers, but we found one that was extra special, using rocks as a design feature. 

 

Normally, we return to the house where Rick makes a super breakfast, but for a change we stopped at a boulangerie-café for a pain au raisin, chocolate muffin, apple juice and tea. A man in line in front of me was convinced I needed help with my French as I placed my order. I didn't, but I said merci anyway.

 Not only was the place good for people watching as early risers filtered in to eat before a day on the sand and in the water, but a man and a second family had their female dogs with them. Both were Staffordshire Bull Terriers.

 

The daughter of the second dog-owning family went over to pat the man's dog, a new mum if the distended nipples was any indication. Horror, disbelief and jealous radiated from the girl's dog's face. When the girl returned to her own table, her dog wasn't sure about forgiveness, but slowly with tender pats, her tail began to wag, first half-hardheartedly then with speed, followed by a cheek lick to show all was forgiven.

As people ambled by we imagined that they were on holiday from their routines in Paris where rushing in the morning to catch the Metro dressed in office-appropriate clothes rather than in the shorts and t-shirts they wore this morning was the norm.

We couldn't help but feel grateful that we live in this wonderful place a good part of the year. Although we both work as writers, our commute is a few steps from bed to computers.

Even when we are not in Argelès, and settled back in our base in Geneva, our commute to the computers is the same. There we have the garden outside our door and Lake Léman a five-minute walk away.

 

I sometimes wonder, if our writing is helped by our environments, the chance to revel in beauty wherever we look, the chance to manipulate our time between "work" if writing is really work, and seizing the day(s) in the best carpe diem tradition. And then I think it doesn't matter as I'm awash in gratitude for my life.