Like the glycine in the garden this year, our life here is lush, richly colored, fragrant and delicious and brimming with growth.
How quickly we’ve grown roots, how our lives have become entwined with this place. How profoundly we flourish and flower here. How hard it is to leave.
Far more than just a place to call home, it actually feels like home to us much of the time. We constantly envy our Dutch and English friends, who can have two homes in two countries that are only some number of car lengths apart. Our two would-be homes are so far apart that we’re torn between them, every day.
Meanwhile the days pass faster and faster, as days are wont to do. The to-do list grows by leaps and bounds, the wisteria climbs the cypress, the packing boxes pile high. Friends here ask us why we’re leaving, if we’re coming back, and how soon. Friends and family on the other side shower us with come-home wishes. Beppo and Zazou are blissfully ignorant of the fact that they’ll stay in France and wait for our return, a long wait, in the life of a cat.
One day soon we’ll close this gate behind us and step back into the world we once called our own. I’m so glad we didn’t leave before the wisteria bloomed.At Home In France