|A beauty of still water reflects a calm of timeless stone.|
My problem in France is that I’m an Anglo-Saxon. I’m a pillager, not a villager. Every time I launch a raid on the Super U supermarché there’s more and more plunder. Fruits of the sea lead on to Charentais melons, Boeuf Bourginon, sorbet-citron and cheese. Soft creamy morning light caresses while deep warm evening wines seduce. Oh if only I were a famous travel writer I could claim it was all research! As it is I’m a penniless recidivist hedonist bloggerist with no excuses.
|Shine a light and I will follow|
A couple of nights ago I trotted out with my camera to capture something of the mellow soft late summer joy of my town. Really, it’s not a place – it’s an emotion, a passion and the thrill of calm. I took some shots. Voila!
Soon my sense of guilt and over indulgence gave way to philosophical reflection. I have been working on a novel. My man
|You rays me up……….|
has been working on the leaking roof. Neighbours have stopped and shrugged at the unpredictability of roof tiles, love and fate. Toasts have been drunk to all of them. The air is feathered with swallows. The raised brow of autumn patiently indulges the unacknowledged end of youth. Still the noon is warm. I close my eyes and bask with the lizards.
|God can be gaudy.
Emma Thinx: It takes a warm blooded creature to act in cold blood. (Click here to tweet this!)