I am having ongoing visions of lavender fields. As far as the eye can see.
It all began with a magazine called France Guide 2006 and a story in it about Paul Cezanne. It is, apparently, the Year of Cezanne in France, marking the 100-year anniversary of his death. He was born in Aix-en-Provence and, according to the article, “didn’t have to go looking for color. He was born under the sun, surrounded by buttercup-yellow houses and blue sky.”
And then there is the photo of the lavender. Rows and rows of it around a majestic tree, the sunlight hitting one small strip and making it almost glow. Imagine the heady scent in the air.
Beauty in a foreign land. Sweet.