I went out to my front garden and the morning sparkled and the air smelt warm like spring. Fresh. I'd just made coffee and when I came back it smelt like breakfast whilst travelling in Europe and those heady steps one makes towards the dining room all a quiver with what might be offered to eat, and what adventure awaits, in the mornings.
Do you think it is the lockdown? Urges to travel, it has been so long. Is it my subconscious taking me places? I don’t know, but I love those moments. It is what travel is all about, I guess. It is expansive. It makes you a greater person, more rounded, more developed, gives you a greater understanding on life and how people live. All those other lives that get to touch you in such a lovely way. There is nothing else quite like it.
Ah, coffee in Paris. The sweet sugar of cooked raspberries on my lips. The delight of butter spread thick. Freshly baked wheat soft in my mouth. The anticipation of all the delights that await.
Wanderlust. Chewy crust. The bank’s a bust. In travel we trust. Stand still and rust.
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