“Look at those vines,’ he said. ‘Nature is wearing her prettiest clothes.’
The effect of this unexpectedly poetic observation was slight spoiled when Massot cleared his throat nosily and spat, but he was right;”
– Peter Mayle – A year in Provence
It’s difficult to think of a time when Peter Mayle was not in my life. Always in the background of my romance with France, my discovery of Provence, my blankie of comfort when the world was too rough and people too mean, it would be me and my go to movie, ‘A Good Year.’
His words were friends of mine.
Treasure hunting film locations in the Luberon.
Reminders that the quiet, the silence, the simplest things in life are golden gifts.
His words made my world so pretty.
My mother loved his books and I told her all about the places there.
The quill lies quiet, characters immortalised but none new will take us through the scraggy paths of Menerbes, of Gorde and Bonnieux – into the shops and alleyways and back doors of people who are living there.
Didn’t want to write more today, just to say … I shall miss you in my life. I have you in my life.
“We had been here often before as tourists, desperate for our annual ration of two or three weeks of true heat and sharp light. Always when we left, with peeling noses and regret, we promised ourselves that one day we would live here. We had talked about it during the long gray winters and the damp green summers, looked with an addict’s longing at photographs of village markets and vineyards, dreamed of being woken up by the sun slanting through the bedroom window.” – A year in Provence.
You got to live a little of the dream, for all of us. Thank you.