The drive home

When I left this morning, I had eaten breakfast on the terrace, in the sun. The view was of a small touristy town in Spain. It was sleepy in the morning, but was often overrun by tourists by midday.

We left before they even began the steep winding path down the mountain.

Four hours later, we had begun our ascent in the Parc de Cevennes. A large swath of dark grey clouds came forward like a marching army. We approached the cliffs, they formed an amphitheatre of rock, and then passed through a hole and into the tunnel. When we came out there was a place to stop. We ran in as it had started to rain. We bought sandwiches and when we turned around, a large gust of wind hit us and the rain blew in hard. 

For the next few hours we were in and out of rain, even as we passed the Millau suspension bridge, its elegants sails reaching high.

Coming up through the centre of France, we noticed the sharp change in temperature. People were wearing sweaters, shivering, over shorts.

Now home, I can hear the sound of raindrops on the roof outside my window.

@6 months ago with 1 note
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