The Lavender Light of Provence
The Lavender Light of Provence
Blog Article
You don’t just see the lavender in Provence —
you feel it.
It begins as a scent,
long before the fields appear.
Soft. Sweet.
Timeless.
I arrived in July,
when the sun was bold
and the wind was gentle.
We drove past small stone villages
where shutters stayed half-closed in the heat,
and fountains whispered in the shade.
Then the fields opened before me —
row after perfect row
of violet dreams.
It looked like something out of a painting.
But it smelled better.
I stepped out of the car,
barefoot on warm earth,
surrounded by the low buzz of bees
and a silence I hadn’t known I needed.
It wasn’t just beautiful —
it was healing.
At a nearby market,
I bought a tiny lavender satchel
from a woman with a smile like sunshine.
We spoke in gestures.
She gave me honey,
I gave her gratitude.
That night, I sat on a terrace
overlooking golden hills.
I opened 온라인카지노 just to check a match result —
the only sound in the calm evening air
was a faraway owl
and the click of my thumb.
I stayed offline after that.
Watched the sky turn mauve.
Watched a child chase butterflies.
Watched myself relax
in a way I hadn’t in years.
The next morning,
I wandered to an abbey hidden in the lavender.
There were no tourists.
Just monks singing.
And air that smelled like memory.
I checked 안전한카지노 briefly
on the train back to Avignon —
but Provence had already taught me
that some bets are better placed on presence,
not prediction.
And in that soft light,
I remembered how to be still.