There's a breeze this morning. A welcome change from the recent heat. Every so often there's a sudden gust, more a polite cough, of air that sends the hawthorn blossom whirling off the trees and up into the air. Sophie stands and watches this summer blizzard in silence. Bob, focused on the scent of rabbits, is oblivious to it.
At the end of the lane the road side irises are coming into bloom. Something you'd rarely, if ever, see in Scotland but common here.
The Old Farmer heads past us in the ancient Mercedes. He stops and gets out. Bob has his head patted, Sophie backs away and positions herself behind my legs. Nine years since the Old Farmers wife, youngest daughter and two German Shepherds were killed in a car crash. Today he's going to drive over to a hillside that overlooks the scene. Something he does every year. '' I love her as much now and I did then ' he says with an intimacy alien to Anglo-Saxons. With that he gets back in the car and drives away.
The hidden and unexpected dramas of a small village in deepest, deepest France profonde .
7 comments:
The Old Farmer is a very special gentleman...how distressing that he has such a tragedy in his life.
Love the idea of a 'polite cough' of wind. Though not something much experienced in your homeland.
Sending best wishes to the brave Old Farmer.
Cheers, Gail.
Sad, but sweet...
A sad pilgrimage for the Old Farmer, made easier I've no doubt by meeting a friend such as you along the way.
Hope all is well with you and that you and 'the font' are going to be able to take your trip to this side of the pond.
How incredibly sad.
The Old Farmer's devotion and love are truly admirable; the tragedies in his life have not dimished his beatufiul heart.
A sunny day, an invigorating walk in beautiful surroundings, Bob and Sophie will store these happy memories to see them through their days in kennels.......
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