I must confess
kissing and being with this man
no matter where
is always good. So why did I doubt going to the snow mountains would be any different?
I must confess, that if he was a handyman he would be perfect.
I won't mention my thoughts about his newly grown beard...
The Snow Man that made me come to the snow, the Hautes Alpes (French Alps), said this morning, "We are going for a drive." I know him well, and snorted, "Are we going to hike in the snow?" He shook his head, then he took my hand, "Today we will do what you want to do."
Being the brat that I am I did not think twice to say, "Oh no darling, you love to ski, today is a beautiful day, you should ski, go ski... " Instead I jumped at the chance, "Okay, let's drive around so I can take some photographs."
The Snow Man drove to a small village called: "Au Hameau de Fouillouse".
I must confess that I am loving it on this snow mountain.
The sky, I swear it could not be any more blue.
Majestic yet natural, hand in hand.
We came to this little town. The road narrowed, wall to wall stone houses lined it, the snow made it even more enchanting. I cannot believe I am saying that, "The snow made it more enchanting!"
I begged my Snow Man to stop the car, "I have to get out."
I wasn't cold because the overwhelming feeling of happy was stronger.
What spoke to me: The old structures, some abandoned, villages that use to thrive, lifestyles gone, but history intake. Photogenic.
The silence that wrapped around it all, atmospheric.
The fluffiest cats! This one I could have called my friend. Those eyes. As I took its photo I thought what is happening to me... I am walking around in the snow, loving it, taking photos of cats, kissing a Snow Man with a beard?
A church yard... covered in snow, snow deep enough it went into my boots and up my pant leg, did it stop me, hell no...
Maybe I'll go skiing.
Maybe French Husband will shave his beard.
Maybe I'll move here and have a cat.
I love surprises that wake me up to that which is good.