The sun is back.
I'm sitting at the upstairs desk, windows open, listening the Grandma-Français chat away with La Neighboure's dad in the street. Pleasant voices mixed with the occasional melody from the birds nesting in our magnolia trees.
The church bells have just told me it's 9:30 a.m. and I know I need to rise up, stretch out my arms and get busy with all that surrounds me.
But for just a moment more, I'm like a cat. Eyes closed, face towards the morning sun, soaking in the warmth and beauty that we've missed for the last few weeks. I inhale deeply. The air is perfume today.
The street is silent now and I open my eyes to look at the ancient church across from my window. It's cool shadows have been pierced by the sun. The green leaves of the blooming apples trees between us have cast a surreal glow that makes me want to take this place, this light, these smells, into my arms and affirm in a silent whisper: C'est beau. C'est beau. C'est beau.
This morning, I am better for letting the sun, in all it's glory, speak.