In France's northernmost coast, the air is crisp, the grass is vibrantly green, the sand is chalky and the sky is teasing us with the sun's playful hide-and-seek.
Along the winding, stone-lined country roads, nature rises to greet us: sheep, goats, cows, swans, storks, chickens and gulls. Chapel steeples signal our arrival into the town square, and signs for miel, pommes and cidre warm up the views on this cold November day.
There, along the road, we see the horses, hanging out far back by the barn house. With hopes of catching a closer glimpse, I venture out to say, "allô." They return the favor. Before I know it, they're trotting toward me, wide-eyed, wild and free. As they reach the roadside fence, they inspect me. I bend forward to reach for their nose, as they lean right in.
And just like that, I know I'm falling for you, Normandy.