I needed to go to the bank to trace down a missing money wire. My housemate needed therapy, which seemed like a perfect excuse to stop at the tea room in the next village. The plates we selected for our treats were like an English garden alive with blue and yellow flowers. The tea room is full of rustic tables, art work, novelties. The tables were full of people talking. My housemate's cappuccino was a work of art with cocoa sprinkled on whipped creme as thick as ice cream.
My housemate left ahead of me for appointment and sneakily paid for my almond croissant and green tea.
Outside the tea room the first spring flowers were being brave enough to show their faces.
At the bank, the teller found the missing money. Not only is she extremely helpful, she always has her nails done with different designs. Today different tiny flowers decorated each nail. They would have been a good match for the plate at the tea room. I confided my desire to some day have my hands done with the lacy henna of the Middle East. She replied with the French version of "Go for it."
I walked back home, about twenty minutes in the sunshine, but the shadows of the trees on the church caught my eye. Still no leaves but birds were singing their little hearts out.
The air is still tingly but pleasantly so. The ground on one patch of farm land has been turned. The snow on top of the Jura is melting, the mountains looked as if they were part of a Monet.
As I said, nothing spectacular, just pleasant. I don't need more.
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