Sunday, September 29, 2013
Where trust, ever childlike, no cares could destroy.
The peculiar peace of a French village Saturday. No trucks, no vans, no cars rushing past on the school run . Down in the valley the rumble of a solitary combine bringing in the last of the sunflowers. The occasional high pitched pipe of an eagle. Four middle aged couples pushing teenage children in wheelchairs . All boys of thirteen or fourteen. Brain injuries ? They walk in silence. A quick stop on their way to the shrine at Lourdes. We nod as they pass the gate . Angus finds himself silently giving thanks for devoted parents like these .
At nightfall a huge electrical storm. The whole horizon from Italy to Spain coloured blue and red by the lightning. Oddly , there's no thunder. Just a quiet growling from somewhere beyond the mountain passes. Bob seems unsettled by the storm. The ozone ? A change in air pressure ? He barks at wraiths, taking an hour to settle down. I sit in the library where he can see me until he falls asleep. Sophie remains completely oblivious to everything and is soon snoring contentedly away.
The quiet routines of France Profonde.