Monday June 21st

Day 63

In the night I woke and gazed at stars framed in the skylight above our bed, like sequins on a cushion. I thought about my writing niece who makes her poem-jewels shine like all the stars, and the moon too, in a sparkling night sky.

I’ve been a bit homesick today, for the ones I love, and the rhythm of my home groove.

High in the Cevennes mountains here they have their own version of the Mistral - a cold wind that whisks away the suns rays and all hope of drifting in a hammock. Or writing under a vine terrace, barefoot.

And I’ve been thinking about my dear friends popping our warm ripe allotment strawberries into their mouths.