I saw the low mountains with my own eyes, the Alpilles, and they really are shaped so strangely.

There were acres and acres of olive groves, and cypresses some hundred feet tall. Your hand has shaped that place for me.

I stood in your bedroom, and looked out your window. I felt your cool breeze, and heard your silent calm. I wrote for you, just as I dreamt for you last night.

The day was exquisite.

I learned many, many things today in my research, but one particular thing is that Vincent liked olives. During one visit to his brother, in the last few months of his life, he bought olives every day and more or less forced his brother and his sister-in-law to eat them.

I do not like olives at all, so reading this caused me to make a note with a =( next to it. It also caused me to try an olive again, at the restaurant pictured above, called Bazar.

Turns out I still don’t like them.

Sigh… I tried, Vincent.