The olive grove

Today I drove down narrow roads through medieval hilltop villages.

In the countryside, a deer jumped across my path.

I ate tiny salty olives and drank verre de vin blanc.

I sat next to the bluest pool shielded by the tallest pines.

I walked through an aged olive grove with purple and white wildflowers at my feet.

For the first time I heard a cuckoo bird call.

Tonight I see the Provence hills glowing like a watercolour painting.

My realisation - no one else can do anything for you that you can't do for yourself.