A summer Sunday morning and its already in the mid 20's. We head off en famille while it's still cool(ish) for coffee and croissants.
Sophie was carefully groomed yesterday. This morning she looks like she's modelling her rescue dog - 'I've never been near a brush in my life' - look. The sunflowers suddenly coming into bloom. Give them another three days of warmth and sun and they'll be at their peak.
Someone has been up overnight stapling small poetry snippets to the picnic table, the town hall door, the wooden pillars of the 16th century pottery furnace and the church porch.
I shall have to ask the old mayor what this is all about. I can't believe that any of the villagers are responsible for the appearance of this Verlaine like wistfulness. All the snippets are on elongated octagonal slips of paper. Some thought and care has gone into their production. They weren't there on Sophie's nine pm walk last night so whoever has put them up is either a late worker or a very early riser.
6 comments:
A poetry intrigue!
The fourth link his reminded me of one of many reasons why I always disliked academic conferences.
Cheers! Gail.
PS Many thanks to Angus and the several readers of this blog who left kind comments about Bertie yesterday.
Sophie looks as though butter wouldn't melt in her mouth this morning - no pesky C-A-T-S to chase?
As you say Angus, someone has gone to a lot of trouble over the poetry. It looks as though the print is computer generated but I wonder what the point of the exercise is? Have you a hidden talent amongst your 67 souls?
No wonder nothing ever gets decided, if that last link is typical of the average zoom meeting!
Well, we know the new mayor keeps odd hours, but he otherwise doesn't seem a likely suspect. But then none of the usual cast of characters do. It will be quite interesting if you can get to the bottom of this mystery. The last link was a hoot. I shared it with my husband, who is the academic in this family. He's always told me he sleeps through academic conferences, and now I know why.
Hari OM
I totally got the 'harvest' verse... the fisherman one is eluding me a tad... something about a sinking grid??? It will be intriguing to see how often and who - if you ever discover!
Never mind the Perseids, I've been having fun tracking the International Space Station... Here's the link for Toulouse area. YAM xx
I too managed to roughly translate the first one. Had to resort to Google translate after the first line of the second one about the old fisherman, (my dictionary was no help) and even Google translate was stumped! Perhaps it's Occitaine? Big clue? Whoever it is has access to a staple gun!!!
The second one seems to be Occitan. An old man fished a crow. Dip the dirt in the water????
If I get time, I will ask a friend (who is in the Old Farmer's demographic and fluent in Occitan) for a translation.
Angus, you must investigate! Your followers (as with a guru...what does the Font think) must know!
Really, in my old village, all we had were 700 copies of the Man with Anger Management Issues. No culture to speak of!
Post a Comment