Leaving Paris, heading south, I reach the Cap d’Antibes. It’s here
in this white house that I find those forgotten feelings again, of
the breeze that freshens the veranda, of the warmth of the steps
leading to the garden, and of the turquoise water gleaming in the
pool. I lie down under the lemon trees, in the shade, and scan the
blue sky, where a few clouds drift, lost. The song of the cicadas
is slowly replaced by laughter. The sun’s rays stroke my face, and
I am soothed; seduced by the sweetness of summer.