Return To Provence
Winter had softened. Not vanished—Provence didn't forget winter just because the calendar insisted—but loosened its grip the way a hand loosens when it trusts you won't run. The fields below the bastide were still mostly muted, lavender rows pale and sleeping, but in places—low to the ground, stubborn—new color threaded through. Green. A promise. I walked without a coat. Not because the air was warm. Because I wanted to feel the difference. My boots followed the same gravel path I'd taken on arrival—back when I'd been underdressed and underprepared and painfully aware of every eye that assessed me. Now there were eyes, still. Wolves didn't stop noticing. They didn't stop measuring. But the measuring had changed. It wasn't confirmation anymore. It was an acknowledgment. Two pa
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