i awaken to the steady soundtrack of the stream where i wash our clothes with handmade olive oil soap and leave them to dry in the three hours of sun blocked out most the day by the nebbiose montagne who echo avalanches shotguns all day long, who almost took my life yesterday while ice clamps on snow shoes weren't enough for my paralyzing fear as we traversed avalanches frozen nearly solid and raced the rising sun to safety on flat ground.
we are greeted twice daily by the smell and the bells of the sheep being herded by.
we get our milk fresh from local cows and boil it making a smell like a pasta meal and black pepper. we fill our water bottles from the fountain in the village, cold mountain stream water and we make love in the warm safety of our camper in the snow.
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you are born with ass.
