Exuberance – the joy of being alive
The sea is a milky blue. A gang of boys, with attendant girls, jump in from the rocks again and again in sheer exuberance. A sailing boat goes by its sails unfurled against the breeze. The waves become huge and crash the boys to the shore; there is the sound of pebbles dragging on the beach. A blackbird sings close by and a pink collared dove with its distinct marking flies and lands at my feet. Picasso painted these. My body is brown and toned, the breeze is cool against my skin. The boys shriek and call battered by the waves. The water is still very cold, enough for a sharp intake of breath as you go under for the first time.
I went to the Cours Saleya this morning and visited the hanky man who sits at the edge of the market with his piles of hankies – so cheap. His stall is right by the house where Matisse used to paint. He got cross with me because I sifted through as he was about to go, moved this pile to that – and he’d already got them sorted. He was an old man and tired. He did not want to sort through all his hankies again. I tidied them into a neat pile for him and bought three from him, two with initials in the corner.
Someone bought me a huge bunch of peonies from the flower market, pale creamy pink and dark pink. Such a generous gift. They stand on my coffee table and brighten my day. And I read Joyce’s Ulysses; the words stir me, make me crazy, drive me to write.
