You see, I'm positive I was supposed to be born in some French hospital in Provence or Burgundy to two wealthy American ex pats who had escaped to France to lead a simpler life, buying a modest chateau to raise their three children. I was to attend French schools, summer in Brittany and speak English only with my father, whose eyes would glaze over everytime an all French conversation ensued.
Since I left France in June of 2009, I haven't stopped missing it. I regret nothing and am grateful for everything. I have a charmed life, a wonderful family and more than I will ever need, but sometimes when the five o'clock sun hits my face just right or the sky is particularly blue, I think of other days. French days. I think of weaving through the hills along the Cote d'Azur. I think of the long walk home from school, perfect for talking or saying nothing at all. I think of the people I met, the food I ate and the soundtrack of my French life. I think of those things and my heart hurts just a little.
The view from the balcony in my room
Floats at Nice's Carnival
Mount St. Victoire behind the house I always tried to paint
On the way home from class
Mimosas at the flower market