Springtime in Provence

I don't want to jinx it. I know it can be fleeting, teasing you one day with its temperate charms, taunting you the next with its cruel cold fronts and wind gusts.

But I surely am. Because there is a suitcase is sitting next to me filled with winter clothes just waiting to be exchanged with summer ones when I see my mom tomorrow in Paris. Because my rosy cheeks slightly twinge from my nap in the sunshine this afternoon in the park. Because I didn't need my winter coat for the first time since arriving as I sprawled out on a blanket, treating myself to a picnic lunch and a new book.

Oh, has spring arrived in Provence?

I hope so. I hope that when I return from my week-long Paris/London trip with my mom and aunt Lindell, the season will have permanently instated itself in the city I so love.

Today was perfection. A needed respite before I jump into traveling again tomorrow.

The most delicious raspberry tart ever. Literally. There has never been anything so sweet as treasuring every tart bite as the sun hit my face, causing little beads of perspiration to pop up on my forehead. Yes, I was sweating and I was simply sitting. I heart spring.

The park is not my little secret when the temperature exceeds 60 degrees. There were school children playing, couples cuddling, and teenagers flirting and smoking all along the hillside.