Simplicity

My aching body wakes me up early - my air mattress deflated slowly throughout the night, leaving me laying on the hard wood floor. I climb over my still-sleeping friends and to the edge of the spiral staircase. The house is quiet, so I go downstairs and look out the back window at the rolling expanse of green, dotted with grazing cows, dropping off in the distance to give way to a town built up along the river.

Amélie's mother, an energetic woman who smiles a lot but mostly stays mute since she doesn't speak English and we don't speak French or Dutch, lays a patterned blanket on a picnic table outside, on the side of the house with roses climbing up the old brick. She brings homemade apple cider up from the cellar, spreads out meats, cheeses, bread, and jam on the table for us to eat. It's the most delectable lunch I think I've ever had, and I'm secretly grateful for the language barrier so I can focus on the heavenly tastes.

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