France is sort of in limbo right now, with a caretaker government while trying to form a coalition and choose a prime minister. But that's not the reason the university still hasn't sent me a schedule for the semester that starts in a few days. Maybe it's showmanship -- a dramatic unveiling of the awaited for hour of the most aMAZing, inCOMParable, FANTASTICAL lecture on possessive pronouns!
In the meantime, I'm just getting resettled in the house, meeting more of Jean-François's very nice friends, and wondering where the trillions of snails will go in winter. They are legion. They love to scoodge their way onto the van, and spawn on fence posts and grapevines. The vast majority are content to hang out and digest by osmosis(?) the fennel flowers, but a few daring fellows cross the bike path at great peril. They scoff at the speeding assassins pursuing them, goo-ing nonchalantly as looming beasts approach. The snails traverse the gauntlet carefree, in their own sweet time. Not a bad way to be.
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