I didn’t do it, although I intended to: leave a print of the day on my blog. I didn’t leave that print.
Not because there was no time. Or because I didn’t know what to write about. There were plenty of thoughts that passed through my brain. About the discrepancy between the weather and its forecast. About local greeting customs. About news that filtered through. And about the foods we ate, the friends who visited.
Oh yes, I could have written a blog a day, at times enlightened by a photograph of dog or man or cat. Easily. There had been enough to tell.
But I didn’t tell it.
I weeded, and pruned the roses, and went for walks with the dog, and took my time cooking meals. I played games with P and with A, and immersed myself in a book.
And thus a day-to-day report of a summer in France will have to wait another year. Again!
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