on + off (provence)

i am away. left an hour behind: tired routines and darkening days.

wheels are still, cabin flooded with warm salty air. collect bag and short taxi into old town. ah nice la belle, i have missed you!

off to explore.

the tram purrs from stop to stop, softly whispering destinations in my ear. i wait for the doors to open, ready. “nice etoile… shhhhhh”.

gare de nice. double-decker rolls in, rolls out at gathering speed. we are aboard. 

passengers embark, disembark. those that have nowhere to go sit slumped on benches at the station; travellers following the warmth of the sun south as far as they can. 

soon i am where i headed, sick from concentration, which i know will pass.

the markets.

later, fire on the tracks so crowded bus for the (now longer) return.

i hear the screech, thud and screams of female passengers over ‘sunday’s child’. it’s the shock on peoples’ faces that disturbs. 

not interested in gratuitous glances, left, i composed a shot of the red light we were now caught at, right, occupying myself until the bus sheepishly moved on, more viduantly than before.

i am told the man on the motorbike was back on his feet.

finally, it’s good to be back on two feet myself; nothing between me and the early evening sunshine; free to roam.

thank you for reading don’t forget the sun. take care. k x

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