I miss it so much.
I miss walking outside the sunroom, sprawling out on our beloved “nappy chairs” with a book, looking at the pearl-white sailboat-spotted saphire sea beyond layers of emerald trees.
I long to drive my scooter along those windy scenic roads only to come back to find my beautiful, floppy, loving dog waiting in the driveway for my return.
I miss opening up a bottle of rosé to enjoy at that old wooden table stretched out in the dining room, surrounded by mismatching chairs looking as if they belong in a dollhouse.
I miss the feel of the orange clay tiles under my feet.
I miss the promenade of Saint Tropez, or exploring the quaint, turning cobblestone streets of Ramatuelle.
I wish I could see the antique chairs surrounding the fireplace table topped with a full bouquet of sunflowers.
I miss the food and the language.
Now I have a job that consumers my life. I spend some 4 hours each day commuting, plus 9 in the office. I even have work to do on the weekends and holidays; news keeps getting printed, you know?
Will I ever be able to escape again?
When can I run away, hide again in those beautiful Camarat walls?
Discovering this idyllic place, we find ourselves filled with a yearning to linger here, where time stands still and beauty overwhelms.
