When I’m in my office picking up where I left off from the night before,
I see trees – mostly oak and maple. I live on a hill viewing them from
partway up their trunks.
After working in Montreal, I spent a year in France. In the
Dordogne. I wanted to be around those who spoke French and
return a bilingual Canadian.
This wasn’t my sole reason for going. I hoped to write a book.
A novel.
It turned out I had a better chance of writing one than becoming
fluent in French.
Writer’s comment: I returned when the year was over to live on
the hill surrounded by the same trees. I look out seeing the same
view I saw when camping here overnight as a kid.
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