From a train window

Not easy taking a photo from a TGV. Here's a lightly snow-dusted Canigou ... I couldn't resist trying. Some fartnarkling may have occurred.

Like ships passing in the night, S and I waved goodbye to each other at Málaga airport early this morning. Then I used just about every method of transport except boat (why are there no direct flights from Málaga to Toulouse??). Drive to Málaga. Fly to Barcelona. Bus to the train station. Train to Barcelona Sants. TGV to Narbonne. Walk to B's flat, where we had intelligently left the spare car. Of course I paused at this point for coffee and chat with B. 

Good old Bruno the Peugeot started first time, despite having been abandoned for a month, and pausing only for a quick visit to Monsieur Picard for some food, I drove home to a chilly house. Happy to find enough kindling to get the fire going quickly, as it's not quite as warm here as it is in Almuñecar ... 

Very sad news ... the poet Mary Oliver has died. I wouldn't say I'm a great poetry person, but I love her work:

When it's over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

-- Mary Oliver, When Death Comes