Susan Palmer's Exquisite Now

I ran away to France twice in 2016. Seen now, a decade out, it’s hard to fully recall the pain of that year. Current happiness overlays that time. But living through a marriage disintegration, that’s hard. In May that year, I understood my marriage was doomed, yet I couldn’t imagine life without my spouse. So I grabbed one of my beloved sisters, and we flew east, landing in Annecy, a ski town in the Alps near the Swiss border. Surrounded by stunning peaks, sitting on a pristine lake, it wears its charm with great pride.

By November the divorce papers were signed, and I ran to France again, alone this time because deep pain needs privacy the way a broken limb must be kept from moving in order to heal. I chose a town to visit based on a random photo of massive headlines overlooking a pretty harbor. It was a genius bit of luck.

Cassis sits in the heart of Calanques National Park, a little east of Marseille. Time and geologic construction have created massive limestone buttes that drop straight into the sea. You have to be there. You have to bring your small short-lived body to it, get in a boat and motor out to get a good look at this intersection of the forces that built this over millions of years. I don’t know why the realization that I am a mere blink in the universe is healing but there you are.

Cassis France gave me back my heart, cracked of course, but functional. Things got better. Three years ago, I brought my dearest new love there. When heartbreak has disappeared, no longer even a speck in the rear view mirror, sharing must be done. You have to walk around, pointing and sighing, introducing your loved one to the place that brought you through the storm.

It’s no surprise that I’ve set the novel that’s in final polish here. My creative self can’t let Cassis go. The book’s working title — Blue Coast in Winter, a literary thriller — keeps this place still ringing like a bell inside me.

Photos by Susan Palmer