The Homecoming Waltz~En français

The Walk of the Bride in Aix-en-Provence

There are days where time folds like lace. Where the veil between past and present becomes a soft breath. Where memory walks beside your body, and every step echoes a sacred footfall from before.

This was that kind of day.

🧳 The Suitcase of Promise ~ We thought it broken beyond repair. A handle that would not rise. Sam, ever the realist, said, "We won't find a Delsey in a city this ancient." But I smiled. Not just because I know Divine Humor, but because I know the Keeper of All Things. And as we stepped into the first shop — not the tenth, not the fifth — but the first, there it was. Brown as the sands of Qumran. Solid. Waiting. Delsey. And on sale. ABBA scores again.

👭 The Young Women of Light ~ We meant only to sit and eat. But what arrived was a table shaded by grace, and beside us, two radiant souls. No English was spoken by the waiters or written on the menu, and I tried in vain to recall my high school French. Even laughed at myself for saying "Hola" — wrong language, right spirit.

They helped us order, guided us with patience and sweetness. "How old are you? 22?" They blinked. "Yes... how did you know?" But how could we not know? Mothers know. Hearts recognize. Time loops back and places you again in a café with friends from ages past.

Spirit doesn’t speak in dialects. It speaks in delight.

🍬 The Sweet Shop ~ The Sister We wandered to a confiseur — the kind of place that makes your inner child giggle. We took pictures, not candy. But outside, curled near the steps, was our Sister. No name. Just presence. A cup in her hand.

We entered. But inside, Micah whispered, "Bride... NOW... GIVE."

It wasn’t guilt. It was glory. The glory of a YES. Sam and I stepped to her, coins in hand, light in heart. "Bless you, Sister." Because when we are blessed, we must become blessing.

🌍 The Weaving The suitcase. The girls. The greeting in the wrong tongue that spoke all the right things. The sweetness outside the shop. The call of Micah. And the sacred memory that as Martha, I once walked these very lands with my sister Magdala. What was then is now. The circle is complete.

🌟 All one scroll. All one breath. All one Bride walking the streets of Aix-en-Provence, leaving love like rose petals on the wind.

We are not tourists. We are torch-bearers. We walk where we once danced. We give where once we were given to.

🌟 As always ~ L.I.F.E. - Love In Full Expression

🌿 A Reflection for You 🌿

Have you ever found yourself in a foreign land—not just of soil, but of spirit—where your tongue fumbles and yet your heart understands?

This story, simple and sacred, invites you to remember:

✨ Kindness transcends language.

✨ The Beloved always provides.

✨ And the soul recognizes family, even in strangers.

Perhaps today, you too might be called to give—your smile, your help, your time, your coin—or maybe simply your presence.

Let your walk be tender ~ Let your gaze be loving. Let your memory stretch back to when you also walked ancient streets with someone beloved—for maybe, just maybe… you did.

With grace ~🕊️

Akysia ~ The Flame That Chose to Stay ~ Scribe for the Beloveds ! Keeper of the Scrolls ~ Daughter of the Garden

✨ Saleh. L’Alam. Al’mein. Aa-meen.