Saturday, November 4, 2017
Do Magpies migrate ? There are a dozen pairs sitting in the plane trees that line either side of the lane. Without exception the higher perched of the two sits facing to the right, the lower to the left. There was a time in life when such small things would have gone unnoticed. Now, walking with the PONs I have the time to take it all in.The Rickety Old Farmhouse is warm and snug, we're all in good health, the PONs are happy as only family dogs can be, the lights of the jets rushing in from their Atlantic crossings twinkle like the stars of the morning. For early rising dog owners the small evidences of hope are everywhere.
We sit on the storm drain, the PONs on either side of me. Angus and Bob wonder why male politicians feel that consequences don't apply to them. We settle on ego as the reason. Here, with the young garagiste waving as he accelerates by, there is nothing but routine and in Sophie's case something unspeakable she's found in the drainage ditch. For human and canine companions it is, in its own way, shaping up to be the best day ever.
I'd guess the village odd job man forgot to close the church doors last night. A squall in the wee hours has left the floor wet. There must have been quite a wind to drive the rain so far down the nave. A second patch of water up by the altar indicates that the side door was also left open. The damp tiles look almost new.
The churchyard is looking festive .... or as festive as a churchyard can look. The tired and hideous plastic flowers have been replaced with equally hideous new ones. There's fresh blue, white and red ribbon on each of the graves of the villagers who fought in the First World War. A garden centres supply of chrysanthemums line the paths. Here in this deeply unfashionable part of France the tap roots of memory run deep and wide.
Artichokes for lunch.
'The Font' thinks this could be titled a family summer holiday in the Highlands :