A weekend away

The car, the music and some crisps.

To wear comfy clothes and to set the sails. To be stuck in traffic and eventually take a different road, next to the ocean. To meander in the direction of the horizon.

A two-sided story: the ochre stones and its duvet of flowers, the breeze caressing the shivering waters. It was clear enough to see the curves of the mountains from afar and then, a cloud of mist would cover everything. We opened the windows to smell the humid earth and to touch the freshness of the rain. We looked at the surrounding nature being immersed by those silvery drops.

Some rest, a book and a bit of wine.

To walk around a small town out of time. To enjoy wasting time. To appreciate the silence of the countryside and the extent of the fields, the simplicity of the houses.

The sky decided to stay tinted, its blue swearing with the velvety hills. On the terrace, we stopped to drink a coffee and eat a freshly baked patisserie. On the last page of my book, the wife of Hemingway passed away. In the evening we dressed up: a handsome suit and a sexy dress. We met in a sanctuary for faeries protected by the trees. Games and tequila were invited.

Waves, confidences and shivers.

To walk bare feet on the beach. To run fast. To prevent the cold from invading our rolled up jeans and to have them wet anyway. To stroll fast enough all along and to hope the wind would clear our minds. To make us forget about the night.

We watched the shells making their ways between the sand grains. Some crawled, some others lighted up with the reflection of the water. And, side by side we thought that the weekend was beautiful.