Sunday, August 28, 2016
On one side of the ridge the rising sun paints the sky red. On the other side the moon casts a snow white light across the clouds. ' How beautiful ' I find myself saying out loud.
The PONs and their master sit on the storm drain for ten minutes watching the mountains turn slowly pink, then orange before they finally meld into the purply-grey heat haze. The PONs sit in silence. The itinerant Spanish melon pickers pass by in their convoy of little SEAT vans. The farmer in his little white Renault waves at us.
'The Font' has returned with the Americans. At night, in the mountains, the temperature dropped to a refreshing 11 degrees. 'The Fonts' timing was out by a day. Yesterday was the hottest day of the year so far. 41 degrees in the afternoon. Still 35 as we set up the table on the terrace for dinner.
The Americans discover that the little village is a way point for female Spanish students trekking up the mountains. The Americans become enthusiastic trekkers. 'The Font' enjoys glorious peace and quiet.
Over breakfast 'The Font' announces that it might be a good idea to rent a house in the mountains next summer. A perfect way to exercise the dogs ( and ourselves ) and escape the heat. Angus looks at the proposed rental and is less than convinced. Rusticity and comfort are often mutually exclusive.
On our way home from our morning walk we bump into the mayor who is replacing a dead hydrangea in the flower bed behind the Salle des Fetes. Sophie gets a tickle. I ask him about the three women who came to the front gate wanting to use our garden for aperitifs. The mayor has no idea who they might be. He says that there are no weddings planned for the rest of the year.