More barefoot

After the earth chanting, with bare feet in the mud ... 

I decided to go for a walk down the country lanes to the village.

I hadn't had time for a walk yet during my stay in France and it was such a beautiful day.

I slipped on my flip flops ready to go but then I had an unexplainable urge to go out for a walk without my bra on!

I suppose it was because I knew there would be absolutely noone about and longed for the sense of freedom it gives to be bra-less.

For reasons I would rather not discuss here (but might share with you more intimately over a cuppa one day, should the subject arise) I have personal reasons for not wanting to be bra-less.

But here, in the middle of rural France with no one around for miles, who would see me? Who would know other than me?

So ... I whipped off the bra! Oh! The joy of it.

Bra-less and with bare feet in flip flops, I skipped off down the lane as free as a new born calf in the summer fields.

When I got a little further down the lane and out of earshot of the gites,  I had another urge. I wanted to be barefoot, like I had been on the vegetable garden soil that very morning.

I wanted to walk all the way to the village with bare feet and it is quite a walk all the way down there. Who would see me? No one, that's who.

I rather liked the idea of the bra-less, flip flop-less middle aged woman, with a smile from ear to ear, immersed in her own sense of freedom. 

I kicked off my flip flops and wriggled my toes. I wasn't ready for the life changing lesson this abandonment of foot attire would bring me ...