Time away
How does one start the next narrative? I do not know, yet here I am. I'm back in Greece after a blissful month in the South of France. There, I had elongated days filled with walks, stone fruits bleeding with juice, and the clicks of heels along smoothed cobblestones. Of course, I stopped in Paris for a few sunsets, and then I spent nearly a month in Aix. Knowing me as an urban dweller mainly thriving from smog and city noise, friends were keen to watch me as the days rolled by. I have a hunch a few had bets I would lose my cookies and run back to the winding streets of Paris with panhandlers and pickpockets, tourist queues, and the endless noise and complacent stress of city life. Instead, as the days lingered, I found a rhythm and solace within the small town. Vendors at the market started to recognize me; the cafe I went to for iced coffee treated me as a local after my third visit--realizing I was there a long haul--as I blundered my F...