Down the lane

DSCF52643rd August: And so to the road that runs between Noves and Cabannes and the little lane that runs away from it. The small spotted ponies are biding their time in what’s left of the pear orchard. Various Norwegian Blues are here and there: two of them are asleep inside a large cardboard box that probably once held something of interest from Ikea. Another is spotted sloping in the direction of the kitchen with something also interesting hanging from the side of its mouth. The something interesting probably didn’t originate in Ikea. They have been temporarily usurped by a sixteen month old child who currently dominates this household. She’s been left with her grandparents for a week. She’s going to make the most of it.

DSCF5269The evening sun shines down on the little table and chairs in the new garden. All day the threat of a storm of epic proportions arriving from the Pyrenees has hung over us in bulky grey and black cushions of cloud. At midi, in the dripping humidity, an electric fan was brought to the outdoor sitting room. Eating was hard work – only two of the three adults succeeded. The sixteen month old, whose safety is paramount at all times, managed a yoghurt; and later some indeterminable scraps of something found under the table.

We went for wine, vegetables and ice-cream. Somewhat irrationally, when asked what I’d like to eat for dinner, I requested curry. Then, when no-one was looking, the grey and black clouds moved away to worry the folk in another part of Provence. The big sky turned blue again and the cicadas recommenced their chattering. Away through the foliage of the new garden, over the tops of the endless orchards and behind a cypress dressed horizon, new clouds sit patiently. The aperitif is also waiting.

 

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