reijmerstok

cows and donkeys in the fields outside our window
apple orchards with farmers greeting us like an old friend
smalltalk with the owners of the only village shop (the village school still teaches sixty children)
picking summer flowers in the sloping fields
my child gazing, gazing at everything new with big and serious eyes
taking pictures of the wayside holy crosses at all the crossroads that we pass
baby babble from six in the morning, afternoon naps to take us through the rest of the day, and stargazing at night
walks in the blazing sun through fields of gold and with a beer in the pubs that we happen to pass
attempting our french buying cheese and fruit and macaroons at the belgian sunday morning market
walking, more walking through the sunny fields, growing freckles, eating cherries, marveling at the foreign beauty of this our country