Going To Europe As A Budding Cook

The Undulent Landscape Looks Serene In Every Direction. Honey-colored Farmhouses, Gently Placed In Hollows, Rise Like Thick Loaves Of Bread Set Out To Cool.

Whatever A Guidebook Says, Wether Or Not You Leave Somewhere With A Sense Of The Place Is Entirely A Matter Of Smell And Instinct.

Five Tender Apricots In A Blue Bowl, A Brief And Exact Promise Of Things To Come.

Never Lose Your Childish Enthusiasm And Things Will Come Your Way.

Like Fanning Through A Deck Of Cards, My Mind Flashes On The Thousand Chances, Trivial To Profound, That Converged To Re-create This Place. Any Arbitrary Turning Along The Way And I Would Be Elsewhere; I Would Be Different. Where Did The Expression "a Place In The Sun" First Come From? My Rational Thought Process Cling Always To The Idea Of Free Will, Random Event; My Blood, However, Streams Easily Along A Current Of Fate.