Tarte Fine aux Potimarron, Jambon et Oignon at Camont on a fine Autumn day.
I am prodded awake by a rumbling engine, a squealing brake and a barking sleepy dog at this dark hour, around 5:30 or so, every Friday.
La poubelle a été collectée. The garbage has been picked up.
The French word poubelle almost sounds pretty, right? I am grateful that my rural c…
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