On a chilly February morning, when the grass glistens white with frost,
I drew back my curtains to this magical view;
the hamlet across the meadow in Lourmarin.
It is is mystically alluring, no matter the time of day or year.
Treading the worn cobble stones, in the footsteps of so many before,
each step becomes a precious moment in time,
as you try to capture the essence of the enchantment around you.
The words I once read when visiting Yosemite National Park ring in my ears;
‘make only footsteps, take only memories’.
Memories to treasure, when one once again you are far away.
A faint, golden hue hangs above Lourmarin on the stroll towards the Château.
The golden, limestone church walls gleam like warm honey through the naked, winter trees
The Lourmarin Château