Sunday, October 27, 2013
Every saint has a past, every sinner a future.
The farmers work past midnight ploughing the fields. This morning the freshly tilled countryside ready for the sewing of winter wheat. How quickly the year flies by !
The clocks go back today. By seven the sun is up for our morning walk. Bob and Sophie follow the lane that runs across the top of the ridge. Bob puts his head down in the grass, takes a deep breath and barrels off. Sophie, more of a ' let's stop and look at these dandelions ' type companion, saunters along slowly. Muddy feet are washed in the stream before they're allowed in the car and driven home. We stop off at the local 24 hour store for milk. The forecourt a mass of chrysanthemums for All Saints Day. Home to find 'the font' polishing the dining table - the scene of Sophie's chicken devouring crime.
Sunday morning in deepest, deepest France profonde.