We’re now starting to understand why the locals in our village look at us with some concern when we tell them we are here for the whole year and are not just sun seekers on a jolly holiday. It gets pretty quiet here in January. The plane trees, which give such an iconic look to the whole village, are raising up their bare branches, as if they’re asking themselves where the sun has gone. Most of the restaurants have closed their doors for the season. And the villagers have retreated behind their shutters seemingly to hibernate for the winter. I’m sort of doing the same, staying in most evenings, watching old episodes of Twin Peaks and soaking up some bleak vibes. So, yes, it appears that even in sunny south of France you can catch the winter blues.
To help beat this, I’ve been looking over some of my photos from the summer and remembering the many special moments: sitting on the steps with the sun pouring onto our yellow house, dinner outdoors overlooking the hilltops, the first lemon I picked from our lemon tree, cycling through the endless vineyards…. Here are a couple of quick sketches which I did today from those memories, bringing a slither of summer sun back on a cold, dark January evening.