A month home, almost, already, and I feel like my feet have hardly touched the ground.

A hundred coffees and hugs and reunitings, a massive Christmas, moving into a new home, new years eve and now 2012 is here.

Bam.

I’m not sure I’m ready / I’m not sure if I should post this, but why not be real and raw? It’s been really tough to settle. I haven’t yet.

I’m so happy / I’m so sad / I’m feeling / I’m unfeeling.
I question why I came back / I know I had reached my ending there.
Here is home / but so was there / and so I’m just floating.
Waves of homesickness for France clash against waves of joy for the things, people, familiarity of here.
This / There / The inbetween.

The memories sparkle and fizz, so very real and vivid. I can close my eyes and be right back there, in those moments, all at once.

Picnicking on the steps of the Basilique du Sacré-Cœur overlooking twilight Paris / walking the Cinque Terre trails / finding platform nine and three quarters at Kings Cross Station / gazing hopefully out to the Loch Ness waters in the Scottish highlands / walking the Charles Bridge in Prague at sunset / dipping ten toes in the glorious waters of La Côte d’Azur / savouring apple pie and runny custard on the cobbled streets of Stockholm’s Gamla Stan / getting lost in the canaled streets of Amsterdam / crying at the beauty of Julia Stone’s enchanting voice during an intimate concert amongst the ancient theatre ruins in Arles / riding the world’s steepest cogwheel train up the side of a 4000 foot mountain face in Lucerne / contemplating Stonehenge / scalding my fingertips on roasted chestnuts and mulled wine at the Christmas markets / champagning at the lofty tip of La Tour Eiffel /seeing, really seeing, the brutal beauty of Anne Frank’s words and experience in Amsterdam / tasting home-pressed wine in the back of an Italian’s shed on the coast / dancing in the back streets at the Fete de la Musique / soaking up the Joie de Vivre with wine, cheese and balmy friday nights at Les Estivales / biking to the beach / strolling through Hyde Park / lining up with thousands at the final Harry Potter premiere in Trafalgar Square / Portobello markets and Hummingbird cupcakes on a saturday morning / watching the changing of the guards / skipping heartbeats over the pink salmon Florentine sunset / eating fresh pasta in Rome / wine tasting on the rolling hills of Tuscany / sharing a gondola ride in Venice / ohhhing and ahhhing over Chagall’s colourful and dreamy works in Nice / knowing the Paris metro without map / meeting beautiful strangers / a million more untold adventures / That clear, pure, blissful, present, embodiment of complete, unbridled freedom.

On my final beautiful day in Montpellier, I sat in the oldest botanical garden (in all of France) and wrote down my wishes, and tucked my paper and peace dove inside the wishing tree.

As they say, every ending gives way to a new beginning. I hope, crave, need for my next adventure to be a beautiful, inspired, unwalked, sunshine-dappled, closer one.

With thanks from the bottom of my heart for for reading, commenting, flying with me these past months.

For a little while, this petite bowerbird bids you love, adventure, and au revoir

xx.

Late afternoon sunshine peeks around dark, secretive corners and into the crooked, winding alleyways of the old town, illuminating hidden boutiques, parked bicycles and humble coffee nooks. Colourful, plump cushions are poised on uneven chairs and piles of flannelette rugs are nestled in wicker baskets beside tables, alluring customers to cocoon themselves in softness and cover their cold ankles while they sip coffee from bowls and warm their insides as the crisp air of twilight beckons.

Stockholm. The city that stole my heart away in a matter of days.

There were fairytale forests with horse drawn carriages, blonde haired people everywhere, heavenly stationery shops filled with white boxes stacked as high as the lofty ceilings and fabric covered folders in every colour of the rainbow (think Kikki.K on every street corner) delicious fresh produce and indoor/outdoor market stalls, incredible architecture everywhere you turn, charming buskers, everyone smiling and greeting you with “Hej!” (which sounds like “Hey” in English) Oh, and did I mention (to the grief of my credit card) this city is an unbelievable fashion mecca? All clean, uncluttered and surrounded by water and nature. Magic. Minimalist, one might say.

So minimalist, in fact, that the room I booked had no bed or shower.

But I regress… there is plenty more to that story. x.