I am sitting out on the back patio of a small house in southern France. To my right is a garden tended by a sweet, charming, small old man who tried earnestly to communicate with us even after we admitted to having not a word of French, and by a redheaded youth I have cast as his grandson. Behind me is L’Aude. It is a quarter to 8 in the morning, which means the temperature is about 70 and perfect.
I have 70K to go, two weeks to write it in, and if I’m not wearing sunglasses now, I certainly will be in a few hours. Hit it.
(x-posted from the essential kit)