Waking with the Sun
I awake fairly early as the sun pierces through my bedroom curtains and get up from my white, fluffy cloud and walk to the window. Rubbing my eyes and yawning, I push the curtains aside and fling open large double windows. Gasping, I am frozen still in silence before I start laughing in disbelief. It is the most unexpected and breathtaking view of my lifetime to date. I am somewhere up in the sky, between two lush, green mountains, scattered with tiny pink villages below around them and opening up to the vast blue sea. I hadn't been able to see any of this last night, coming in blind with no idea where I was.
Every morning, breakfast is served out on the terrace - an assortment of breads, cheeses and charcuterie. My usual routine becomes sitting out in the garden or swimming in the pool for awhile afterwards, before drifting back to sleep in my cloud back in the room. (I simply cannot even sit on this bed without falling asleep.) That first afternoon, I wake up from a nap with church bells ringing off the mountains and delicately making their way through my open bedroom window. This has to be the quietest, most peaceful place I have ever been.
From the window, I see a small stone village with a church and about seven other buildings so I set out to explore. I walk down the winding gravel road as light as ever and the last time I can remember feeling this carefree, I was about seven
years old, singing while stealing flowers from neighbors' gardens. My headphones are blasting the most beautiful flute melody that feels like it was born here and everything is giving me chills despite the warm sun kissing my face and shoulders - the music, the view, the air. The beauty of this place is staggering. Water and mountains are the only things around me; and flowers are everywhere blowing in the breeze - pink, violet, yellow, coral, white - of every shape and size. Butterflies flutter past me from every direction. I'm singing now and laughing out loud, twirling in my dress as I walk, and I feel about five years old.
I sit outside on a cliff terrace overlooking the valley and the sea and have a glass of sparkling Corsican wine. I am so high up that I am closer to the clouds than anything else and they dance around the mountain tops in whisps as the sun pierces through. A flock of joyful, singing swallows swoop down and fly past, so close to me that I think I could reach out and catch one. And I feel so light that I might inevitably take flight and join them.
(Thank you from the bottom of my heart to the most generous person I know, who booked this hotel for me and wouldn't take no for an answer. You know who you are.)