J is working in Paris for three weeks, so S and I have left the shining silver waters
for a sea of red near Manou's house.
We came for a visit, yes, but also so I can (hopefully!) sell some stuff in a community-wide yard sale this weekend. It has been an adventure, delving in dusty boxes and moldy corners, looking for things to get rid of. We have accumulated so much in the past 11 years and 6 (major) moves. Sadly, we have little of value to make the visit financially interesting (assuming the predicted rainstorm* does not come and there is a decent turnout), especially considering that the car trouble did not go away as we had hoped. It is back with a vengeance, and I have to take the car to the mechanic tomorrow. We'll see how many pretty pennies repairs will cost then.
But worries aside, the Black Mountains are beautiful in this season, the field behind Manou's house is full of daisies and golden blooms, and the roadsides are watched over by waving grasses. Just the loveliest flora for a rustic bouquet.
* I first wrote "trainstorm." What would a trainstorm resemble, I wonder?