Traditional means bread to me, as I remembered on Sunday when I bought some. Un traditionelle is a lovely fresh loaf. I’m back in Figeac, following some of my own traditions and remembering some of the customs of this ancient place.
I’m breaking a few habits/traditions too. I’ve been going up to the station another way, just for variety. There’s a newish footbridge I rarely use. As I was coming back the other evening I got some lovely photos…. it was the Golden Hour…. sunset. I’ve just been editing them, so it’s a perfect time for a show and tell.
Views of the River Célé, Figeac, France.
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