Manon wears gabardine.

Manon wears gabardine.


Meet my adorable daughter, Manon. She just picked those tomatoes for our afternoon picnic in Place des Vosges. I love picnics. Until I have to get up. Then I need a stretcher and a shot of tequila. But being with Manon is worth the pain of being supine for two hours. She begs to share her crepe and recites Baudelaire by moonlight.

Manon is eight now, and just a little ray of sunshine. When she says “pain au chocolate” it sounds like nightingales singing. She and Gilles play cache-cache in the afternoons among the fig trees at le Château, and I will take you there someday. I just know you will fall in love.

Bisous, mes fleurs.


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