I am alive in le Lot. I feel the wind in my hair and the sun on my cheeks, and my toes tingle. I can hear the woodpecker tap on the bark of the tree. The owl hooting in the attic brings good luck to my friends' home in Tour de Faure. The church bells toll on the hour and the quarter and the half. They are the keepers of my lazy days of reading, writing, and wine. I have vacation eyes.
A four-legged guy remains by my side. Lester is often better company than the two-legged variety. Resting his nose on my leg after a sloppy kiss, he looks up at me with his playful beckoning brown eyes, and I can't think of a thing that could make him more perfect. He is my French Professor.
I have learned that couche means lie down assis means sit, and arret means stop.
When I say bonjour, Lester gives me his paw.
Just when you forget that he is really a dog, you find him chasing the bumpers of cars at full speed down the dirt road of a nearby farmers land, swimming and fetching in le Lot, lifting his leg on the mailbox, and greeting you at the gate with is huge metal dish in his mouth. Lester is multi-talented.
I know he would say j'ai faim, if he could.
What do you see when you have "vacation eyes?"
Happy Sunday!
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