Dropped them off at Mosson this morning. They’ll take the train into Paris, then fly back to Seattle on the 4th. As I write this, I have the slightly forlorn and wistful feeling that is now familiar. The anticipation of a visit, the whirlwind of activity and then, in what always seems an unbelievably short time, the goodbye hugs at the station. I return to an apartment still filled with the smells of the last shared meal and which after the talk and laughter and music seems strangely quiet. The wistfulness is a little more intense this time and as I write this I feel the sting of tears, but I know too that in a day or so I will have recovered the rhythm of my life here. I will write and read and work on my French and feel that small thrill of making myself understood in a foreign language. I’ll walk through the vineyards that I’ve now seen in all seasons and feel centered and incredibly lucky to be having this adventure.
And that night, an e-mail from Paris: