I wish I had something more inspiring to report. Basically what’s going on right now is Waiting.
It’s the main topic of conversation, this waiting. “Alors, pas encore?” everyone asks me. “Bientôt?” (“So, not yet? Soon?”) Everyone tells me their own story about Waiting. I nod and smile and say pretty much the same thing every time.
“Ouii, presque. Nous attendons…Un semaine de plus, j’espere…” Usually accompanied by an exhausted look, and a smile, and people laugh and wish me bon courage.
I walk every day for at least an hour up in the garrigue to stay loose and keep my joints moving and my nerves unpinched. I never feel like going, but the need to walk and feel the air always wins, and I take pictures and breaks as I need them. I sat in the ruins of an old stone pickers’ house today, in the middle of a vineyard with a tree that grows right up through the middle of the crumbling stone walls. From this vantage point you can look down to the coulazou, the dried up riverbed far below. I scrambled up the steep hillside and continued on to the bergerie and the circular stone basin that collects rainwater for the grazing sheep, and took pictures of jet contrails in the sky.
Mostly I’m just waiting. Filling my time.
The baby shifts and moves as I hike, and the shape becomes asymmetrical as he does, pushing triangular shapes. He gets hiccups. I keep my hand on him, and reason that the movement of me hiking is probably soothing to him. I think about walking with him strapped to my chest, sleeping.
I’m just waiting. Picture the doctor’s office…Watching the clock. Flipping through the selection of celebrity tabloids, distractedly checking my phone, waiting for my name to get called. Just waiting.
Pictures from the last few days…Minerve, the garrigue, some coquelicot (the musical French word for the scarlet poppies that blanket the hillsides, jet contrails and sky…it’s how I fill my time.