Silvery boughs of ripening olives, the faint scent of drying lavender, a tree burdened with sharon fruits which I had never noticed before; this is the russet-tinted glow of autumn in Provence. Next month, the olives will be pressed into oil in the village, and the sharon fruits will have all but rotted.
I love my wild, ancient garden; it takes ten minutes to descend the terraces to the bottom of it. It is my Paradise Regained.
1 comment:
This reminds me so much of my grandparent's estate in Portugal, so beautiful it's overwhelming!
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