There is a little cottage in a hot, green valley. Far from home, I wake in it’s unfamiliar bed, a breeze from the open windows ruffling my hair. With sleepy eyes, we brew coffee and pulled back the curtains from the doors. With warm mugs, we shuffle out of the french doors onto a little porch where we settle into rocking chairs and sip the steaming coffee. On all sides geraniums bloom in vivid reds and pinks, but we don’t look at them, because the sun is coming up over the mountain, filling the vineyard across the way with bouncy golden light, and it is just too pretty to look away.
Later we will unlock the bikes from the railing, and ride them from vineyard to vineyard, and to dinner with friends. Then we’ll take a dangerous ride back on the unlit streets with no reflectors and no helmets, and it will be terrifying, but ultimately exhilarating, and we’ll feel a little like teenagers, breaking all the rules we usually follow so carefully. But for now, we sit on the porch, and drink our coffee, and watch the sunlight fill the valley, wishing we could stay here forever.