Je suis arrivée—I have arrived…at least literally. The sun is playing hide and seek (a marvelous turn of phrase courtesy of Nicolas, the proprietor). There is a hum, about alto pitch, that surges and not. It takes a moment to discern that it is from the wind and not a nearby superhighway.
My room overlooks the fountain in the courtyard where, not too long ago, sheep and horses drank. 
A man calls in the distance. I look up to see a parade of sheep marching along a path, dogs and then the man coming up behind. This farm used to raise ewes for the nearby caves where Roquefort cheese is still made. But, in a biblical turn of events, the last caretaker switched out all the young ewes before leaving, resulting in a herd of ewes suitable only for the butcher’s knife. I’m thinking of Jacob. Some part of his story often turns up at pivotal points in my life. Does life have these patterns, these threads that manifest in an overall design? It hit me that I am in a boarding house now just like I was when in London and that my home was a boarding house in a previous life.
Kittens! There are four adorable siblings that tumble and play with their mama nearby. She frequently yawns, the universal sign of motherhood no matter the nationality, language, or species. Giggles erupt like a sneeze–the kittens’ outlandish antics demanding a response. These babies are starting to venture away from their mother and sibs, slowly, tentatively, unsure of their bounds. Again, there is this question if the universe moves in patterns, connecting the dots, as I settle in at le mas de Salel.
