5 Mar
5 Mar
5 March 1920
Its the most divine spring-summer weather - very hot. This is the kind of thing that happens at 1.30. A big car arrives. We go in from our coffee & liqueurs on the balcony. May is waiting to dress me - I wear ‘somebodys' coat - ‘anybodys' - we get in - there are rugs cushions - hassocks - & yesterday the tea basket and away we go. Yesterday we went to La Turbie (I cant spell it and am ashamed to ask.) Its up up high high on the tops of the mountains. Its a tiny ancient roman town, incredibly ancient, with old bits with pillars & capitals. Oh - dear - it is so lovely. The road winds & winds to get there round & round the mountains. I could hardly bear it yesterday - I was so much in love with you. I kept seeing it all - for you - wishing for you - longing for you. The rosemary is in flower (our plant it is) the almond trees, pink & white, there are wild cherry trees & the prickly pear white among the olives. Apple trees are just in their first rose & white - wild hyacinths & violets are tumbled out of flora's wicker ark and are everywhere. And over everything, like a light are the lemon & orange trees glowing. If I saw one house which was ours I saw twenty. I know we never shall live in such houses but still they are ours - little houses with terraces & a verandah - with bean fields in bloom with a bright scatter of anemones all over the gardens. [To J.M. Murry in Collected Letters, 4 March 1920]