My favorite thing about horizons is they split the world into two, and I am not in either half.
B and I in a little cottage outside of Fécamp, Normandy, that used to be the town mill, then a little school house. We are surrounded by herds of black only sheep–where the white sheep are the black sheep–and a donkey we named Xote (get it?). A butcher gifted us a gelatinous beef sandwich because our rudimentary french amused him. We accidentally ordered coffee with a mountain of whipped cream. Oysters and wine in town with Jacques Rebotier. The home of Guy de Maupassant. The place where Benedictine liqueuer is made. A glass of brute cider by the fire.