Tales of Blessedness from the Alps
The cold of morning dances on the stilled pavements around La Terrassa du Beau-Rivage Palace. It is a stunning sight on the 3 May. I breathe deeply, the air is crisp and clear.
I tried to take in the view of the lake over a breakfast bread basket. I love being still while the rest of the delegation swarms around, walks about, or waits. There is a strange glory about the honey comb as it gives up its sweetness to my waiting spoon.
One spoon over pancakes. Another spoon over waffles, and my breakfast is complete.
I told CW, the Minister’s security officer, that breakfast is my favourite time of the day.
I try to pretend I can live like this forever; maybe yogurt on bircher muesli will taste like this in the new earth?
at the still point of the turning world 