I’m in France for breakfast. I stroll the narrow streets of a sleepy Provençal village in glorious solitude — reliving days spent there eating pain au chocolat and drinking steaming cups of café au lait. I rest on a park bench to soak up the sun and bask in the poetic language of locals. There is nothing in the world save the peace that southern France brings me.
By mid-morning, I miss my husband, son, and even my sassy dog, so I teleport back home for some quality time with my little family. We go to the beach and walk and talk and play — just us and the surf and the calming peace of nature.
We sit on the softest blanket I’ve ever touched and our son climbs into my lap and wraps still chubby little boy arms around my neck and whispers I love you to the moon and stars, Mommy.
After lunch, we all take a long, long nap and wake refreshed and un-sunburned. No tantrums or whining from any of us — nothing but the sweet sounds of a boy’s lively imagination set to words and the comforting snorts of our lazy dog beside us.
My husband holds me close as the sun sets and there is nothing in my mind or soul save joy and gratitude and tranquil calm.