the bird who visits me

And here I am at the table downstairs, thinking breakfast thoughts, and a small bird who always comes to observe what's going on is right here, swaying on a branch, right to the side in the foliage. Way back in the leaves and trees and brambles somewhere is a stone contraption, which used to be called a throne, and I would sit there in my early days here, with a glass neatly posed on one of the ledges, and feel away from things.

In any case at all, one is away from things -- whatever those might be -- here. it is two kilometers to the village, downhill (but you would have to come back uphill, were you afoot), and I do not drive, given my narcolepsy...The bird is faithful, as are some wasps. He cheeps, they buzz, we eat quietly, now some plum jam, made by neighbors.

We threw him some parts of a baguette, just baked in the village, and hope he will get it. Life in the Vaucluse. To me, it is very like Paradise.