The Valensole plateau is the mythical place of lavender. Some eighty kilometers from his home, the artist went there a lot, her husband being passionate about beekeeping, had left his apiary there for several seasons. While her husband is busy, the artist strolls in the middle of the lavender fields until he no longer sees the well-aligned rows, but a colored blur, noisy too, of this mid-July, the moment of full bloom.
She therefore makes a somewhat1