I’m here.

It’s amazing.

I’m resting my ankle for now, but as soon as I can take photos, I will. You’ll not believe how utterly beautiful it is here. From the front windows, we have a Cezanne-worthy view of the lush valley and every room is ripe with history. They’ve renovated here and there, but the front door for example has got to be at least 200 years old. The Frenchman was showing me how it works as I was brushing the dirt from my chin, which I had just dragged all over the kitchen, too.

There’s a lot of spiritual activity here, but it’s friendly. Maybe what The Frenchman and others have felt is the presences but not understood what they were about. Or perhaps they just like me because I’ve already shown them my panties. Who knows?

The Frenchman is at some big dinner that was schedule, like, an aeon ago. I was disappointed at first, but now I realize this is good. I have a chance to absorb this incredible house by myself for a bit. It feels great.

More when I’m able.