Tag Archives: Burgundy

Until next time

Certain features along the road say “hello” and “goodbye” like nothing else. This is one of them—Burgundy’s version of the red carpet, the welcome mat, the yellow brick road, the way here and (sadly) the way back home:

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Ghost type

These old French villages are full of ghosts. But my favorites are those that haunt the walls. Signs (literally) of things past. Hotels. Dairy shops. Jewelry and watch shops. Bakeries long gone or relocated. Typography is a passion of mine, … Continue reading

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A wagon full of warm

Last spring, I caught sight of this old man making his way home with a bit of scavenged firewood. I imagine he’s using it now. The wind is so cold. And so fierce when it whips up. An hour ago … Continue reading

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Confession #6: The air we breathe

You can’t see it, of course, but air is one of the defining ingredients of a place. It can inspire as much longing or nostalgia as a certain type of bread or the view from a window in a room … Continue reading

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Let there be light, Part 2

Shortly after my last post. 9:30 p.m. The light come on— a glow warm as hope in the doubt-ridden night. And that brings to mind another poem I love: Hope is the Thing with Feathers Hope is the thing with … Continue reading

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Let there be light

When darkness asserts itself, they come on—at first, a faint pink glow. At midnight, they go out leaving the town blanketed in pitch-blackness. Inside these rustic houses are high-speed internet connections. But outside there are streetlights reminiscent of a long … Continue reading

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Roofscapes

Whenever you find yourself in a foreign country, it is the things that are completely normal (so normal as to be invisible) to the natives that are, to you, the hallmarks of Wonderland. I’ve walked through the streets of this … Continue reading

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Postcards #13 – 17: The French countryside

One postcard won’t do. But one of those perforated, accordion folded jobs will. From me, to you. As they say, “Wish you were here.” *Photographed this past Spring. [If you liked this post, you might also like this: Merry-sur-Yonne.]

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My kind of truck

Traffic—charmingly—doesn’t flow the way it’s supposed to. A tractor turns onto the road in front of you laden with logs that hang far off the back brandishing a red hanky. Your speedometer, accordingly, takes a nose dive. Or another, headed … Continue reading

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Spring storm

Post #6 from our Easter week in Burgundy. Everything smells different right before it hits. The light changes. The temperature drops. Things are hushed, then windy. The gray grows in intensity overhead, while underneath roiling clouds, beiges turn to gold. … Continue reading

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