midday
I have been tempted to shade my little tales a touch too darkly , and I promised myself to give you something joyful , wildly joyful , today . After all , what have I got to be sad about ? Here I am living hundreds of kilometres from the fogs of Paris , on a radiantly beautiful hillside , in the land of the tambourine and Muscat wine . Around my windmill , everything is sunshine and music ; I have wind orchestras of wheatears , bands of blue-tits , and choirs of curlews from morning to midday . And the cicadas , and the shepherds playing their fifes , and the dark haired young beauties laughing amongst the vines ... . To tell the truth , this is no place for brooding ; I 'd rather rush rose-coloured poems and basketsful of spicy stories to you ladies . And yet -- I ca n't .