Pastis. The drink of Provence. It begins with a water bottle, a tall glass, 51...
and a seat at a bistro table by the port of Marseille. The Provencal lifestyle unwinds. Looking out over the sea one plays catch-up with friends, weaves tales while hands orchestra in air, all the while soaking up the Mediterranean sun... it is the way to be... especially on a hot summer eve.
The sea laps like warm hugs, the dice roll making the odds even, the French language swirls and you want to dance with your partner, while singing the night away.
The waiter leaves a tab on a small black plastic saucer on the table. The tab is torn when the bill is paid- though there isn't any rush, no, never the sense of rush....nor the lack of hurry, or bother. Pastis, Marseille and the sun-- Yes the three go hand in hand and sink in, causing one to blush.
.....
As the plane started to land I looked at the landscape beneath me, then just then I heard my name and I felt like I was home. I am not a stranger in this paradise.
Photographs of my friend Catherine's mix media artwork.
