Inside out

The book shelf is in the gin den, the ladder is on the terrace, the cathedral's spire is more or less where it should be.  The mimosa is in bloom and the sun waits until we've finished our cuba libre before slipping behind the Foulon.
Way up in the mountains above Ax the weeping willows along the streams are turning their buds into the most subtle of green leaves.  

We stopped off at Merens Les Vals, shlepped up a steep stony path to visit Ju's putative house; a narrow white barn on the edge of the GR10 which winds up through the woods to a thermal source which we didn't have time to go to because there was a train to catch at the border. Instead we squatted on a dry stone wall under a gnarled tree, drank thermos coffee and ate slabs of chocolate.