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一杯热咖啡足以让人怀念普罗旺斯的清早。从尖顶灰墙的修道院的窗户望出去,是四月的暖阳。光洁缠绵的丝线缕缕交织,干净的空气,洗过的雀鸣,露水打湿的草丛,山路上一溜烟跑过的汽车里抛出的断断续续的乡村音乐……对了,这就是我熟悉的普罗旺斯春天的气息,彼得·梅尔的普罗旺斯,让人忘掉些什么的普罗旺斯,这样的清早,就连空气也弥漫着粉末的紫。我们的车从悬崖上的小镇一路飞奔,山路上一个拐弯,向导一脚踩下油门,“你们看,山下那一片微醺的紫色田野,就是薰衣革的故乡——吕贝隆了。”顺着他的手势,果然,雾霭散去的山谷里,大片厚重的紫,漫过我们的眼。“薰衣草紫,这就是曾让英国人彼得·梅尔爱不释手的《山居岁月》中的乡村景象吗?”我在心里悄悄默念起那本葡萄藤下写成的书。
A cup of hot coffee enough to miss the Provence early morning. Looking out from the spire’s gray monastery windows, it is the warm sun of April. Smooth and lingering thread intertwined, clean air, washing the birds, dew wet grass, rolling cars ran in the mountain ran off the intermittent country music ... ... yes, this is my familiar Provence spring The smell of Provence by Peter Meyr, the Provence by which people forget something, and the early morning, even the air is filled with purple powder. Our car flew from the small town on the cliff to a bend on the mountain, and the wizard pressed the accelerator. “You see, the little purple field in the mountain is the hometown of lavender - Luberon. ”Follow his gesture, and sure enough, the fog dispersed valley, a thick purple, diffuse through our eyes. “Lavender Violet, which is the rural scene in the” years of living “where the Englishman Peter Mayer put it down?” I silently meditated in my heart the book written under the vine.