France, Drop By Drop

My friend, Joan, just returned from a nice long stay in France and she’s been sending me  photographs, one at a time, that are torturing me. It’s like Chinese water torture--first one drop. Then another. Then another. Then another. Then another. And just when I think these delectable images will cease, another. Then another. Then another.

It’s like sending a dieting chocolate lover pictures of bonbons. Then big chunks of fudge. Then crusty-creamy brownies. Then a bowl of Rocky Road ice cream. Then a cup of steamy hot chocolate. Then more bonbons. Then . . . well, you get the picture. Chocolate, chocolate, everywhere, but not a morsel to eat.

Now, Joan has the most refined aesthetic sensibility of any living human being, as far as I can tell. So when she does France, SHE DOES FRANCE! She hasn’t even shared the photos of her time in Paris, the City-Most-Loved, yet. This is merciful. I know she hit the high spots, the Death By Chocolate spots. I can only take so much in any one day without expiring from delight.

So, I’m passing on some of her images so you, too, can spend part of your morning in exquisite torture. These images are of the B & B where she stayed, outside of Montpellier, in the South of France. Can’t you smell the early morning sweetness rising from the garden? Hear the cicadas clicking in the noontime trees? Savor those fresh croissants? Oh my! Where’s my passport . . . ?

Bonne matin!