May Day

I washed up on the shores of May in a bucolically green Ariège.  

It had rained all weekend here while we were tramping the dusty streets of Barcelona and everything had woken up in that scary way that things do in Spring.

We drank a glass of Basque white with a swaddled Bobby, bought a bunch of muguet off a wee Arab boy and came home to prepare for the arrival of the Little People.