![]() La Fargo in Saint-Pierre-Des-Champs was a place for bohemians, artists, writers and Dreamweavers. Seated outdoors that moonlit evening under a pergola resplendent with fig leaves in ripened bloom, I was happiness barely concealed in a gossamer spaghetti strap dress of spun gold. "Say it’s only a paper moon, sailing over a cardboard sea, but it wouldn't be make-believe if you believed in me…." The present known, the future cloaked in a mysterious unfolding. Let Us Dance In The Night Until The Morning Light. Though my dream, I would share its essence with him as my gift of love for our 20th-wedding anniversary. Ahead a new dream awaited its unveiling. I really cannot take it all with me or view my world from the rear-view mirror.Ī long-ago dream was the inspiration for a string of words held together by café lights that have guided my way since then: Wild Heart, Gypsy Soul. I thought I would let go the twenty years leading up to that summer night so that we might see one another as if, for the first time. A life of light and shadows is how I might have described our past. I have always lived my life releasing the past to create and allow the emergence of the present. Begin anew. I cannot think of a simpler mantra than one that is faithful to the clearing of underbrush from my imagined field of dreams. As he deftly navigated our car through a stream splashed over rocks and encircled by the sweet fragrance of French Lavenders, I anticipated a luscious release from everything but love. ![]() En route that sizzling summer day I held a silk fan in hand as my man drove us from Cannes to La Fargo, to an exquisite inn embodied as the intimate place of my dreamscape. The scent of a woman and a lust for life. ![]() We arrived at the medieval village of Saint-Pierre-Des-Champs in the south of France, 27 kilometers from the ancient town of Carcassone linking the Atlantic Ocean to the Mediterranean Sea, to celebrate a wedding anniversary at the twilight of a summer night. ![]()
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