In my last post, I was dreaming of “going anywhere,” getting out of Milan, fleeing the stresses of the daily grind. And yesterday, that’s exactly what we all did. We’ve come back to France for the long All Saints weekend (Tutti Santi). And it feels like crawling back into the womb.
Retracing the exact steps, every time, is magical. Turning off the highway at the Nitry exit and paying the final toll after nearly 7 hours of driving. Curving through Nitry and Sacy (unfortunately I forgot to whip out my telephone and preserve this part of the ritual), riding through forest and field, where we are frequently surprised by the appearances of wild boar or deer, reaching the smaller route toward our house, taking the right through Vermenton, and finally crossing the bridge into our little hamlet, Accolay, which sits hazily on the other side of the Cure River like Brigadoon. The knots of muscle and nerve are already relaxing. It is so peaceful to be here again.