So far we have avoided a parking lot in this corner of paradise and the bright broom or genister as the French call it will be welcome when it arrives in early summer to adorn the mountains and valleys with outrageous daubs of yellow which to me is the happiest of colours. Long may nature be left to herself.
Twinkle. Nature twinkles all the time. The water, rushing pell-mell over rocks, sparkles in the sun; the leaves dripping with frost gleem outrageously as my breath freezes in the early morning and the grass wet with dew glistens to greet me on warmer days. But I love this line from Mae West, and we have snow on the high ground aplenty, and its nearly Christmas, and I’m dreaming. So here is my picture of snow drifting, twinkling down to the Lac de la Cregut in December.
Gone but not forgotten – the Weekly Photo Challenge. In this Centenary year, a memorial to the Great War dead of the little Commune of Lugarde, high up in Cezallier, Cantal keeps watch in all weathers. The names, too many, cut down when they were young. Gone, they can’t return but we can remember them.
The title is from A E Housman’s Here Dead We Lie:
Here dead we lie
Because we did not choose
To live and shame the land
From which we sprung.
Life, to be sure,
Is nothing much to lose,
But young men think it is,
And we were young.
Converge is the title of the Weekly Photo Challenge and here you have it … all sorts of natural lines converging on a crisp November day in my village. The river is La Tarentaine and I think she has the feel of a golden cloth as she drapes herself over the wier. Hence the quote from Yeats. Who I love unconditionally.
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.