Home to Summer

Transatlantic travel is always disorienting (the pun, of course, intended), and I was bemused and befuddled to wake up this morning to Tucson’s typical summer symphony–or rather a concerto, I suppose, with the insistent solo part played by a Brown-crested Flycatcher against an orchestra of White-winged Doves.

More anon about our 12 days in southern France!