CITRUS RIVIERA

Leaving Paris, heading south, I reach the Cap d’Antibes.

It’s here in this white house that I find those forgotten feelings again, of the breeze that freshens the veranda, of the warmth of the steps leading to the garden, and of the turquoise water gleaming in the pool.
I lie down under the lemon trees, in the shade, and scan the blue sky, where a few clouds drift, lost. The song of the cicadas is slowly replaced by laughter.

The sun’s rays stroke my face, and I am soothed; seduced by the sweetness of summer.