But as I have mentioned in the past, just because I hang my hat in this lauded region doesn’t mean that the everyday stress of life magically disappears. So while all is relatively well, health intact etc., Remi and I found ourselves in strong need of a soupape, a breather to let off the steam fogging up our vision.
We have discovered something of a spot of the “c’est réellement un spot ici” kind. It isn’t terribly well known, even amongst the Provençaux. A Secret Provence? Yes, it does exist but if you think I am going to tell you where it is, you overestimate my otherwise generous nature…at least for now.
Perhaps I am simply being my superstitious self. For every time we visit, no matter what worries pre-occupy our busy minds, they disappear like dandelion fluff. I am holding tight to my little talisman.
Yesterday the rain threatened, bullyishly, despite having already trapped us inside all weekend. But it passed. The path was still wet and we had to keep a strict eye on the furry ones who longed to roll in the mud.
For the first time, I had taken my camera with me, certain that the act of choosing to look would bring about something positive as it always does. And although I am not as thrilled with the photos as I was in taking them, I am content in the memory of that two hour stroll.
For as that golden light, the one that side-swipes the dark broke through, I stopped walking for a moment and a thought without thinking misted over me: “It really is beautiful, Provence.” Vision cleared.
Lucky me.
David, dear Uncle Reverend Never Plain David, that just our right made me cry happy tears (I would say) that you resent that most beautiful poem that I have never forgotten that you originally gave with your fine, fine work–it says so much. We don't take any of it for granted. I can promise you that. Although I will be shy to do so, I look forward to the day, I can take your hand and look you in the eye to tell you so.
"I don't know what you're on about", my husband likes to say. This time, I'll say it, too. The photos are exquisite, and were the perfect complement to what you wrote.
Yes, it really is beautiful and so are your photos. I can understand though that the magic sometimes fades and that the grass may seem greener in some other pasture.
Once again you touch our souls…and the pictures. The pictures are special to me because they are so like so many photos I have taken…the sky, the tree branches, some water, a flower….a tree trunk..
When I am in the country ( north of Montreal ) and stroll a country road, I too wish to capture the simple beauty that presents itself.
So thank you again…and everyone who shares these moments with you.
The way you capture the light there is so wonderful. In Hollywood we call it "magic hour' but where you are it just seems magical. Thank you for sharing.
XXXX
Beautiful words and thoughts. And who, you may ask, were you totally in synch with? Why me, of course! I took my camera out to capture my garden in the morning light to help myself focus on the geraniums, columbine, and forget-me-nots rather than the weeds.
Well, Dear Old Heather…..
I believe I've already sent this poem to you and Remi, along with your portrait this past christmas, as I recall.
In any case…..do keep hold of those talismans of yours, and DO keep recalling that you (like all of us) are generally luckier than is immediately apparent on any given day.
A lot of days are plain-out shitty and unpleasant, no matter where you are or who you're with (the EASIEST thing to forget/take for granted is how lucky you are to be with that someone)…..trust me…. I know.
For the moment?….here's that poem again….for you and Remi:
Recuerdo
WE were very tired, we were very merry—
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
It was bare and bright, and smelled like a stable—
But we looked into a fire, we leaned across a table,
We lay on a hill-top underneath the moon;
And the whistles kept blowing, and the dawn came soon.
We were very tired, we were very merry—
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry;
And you ate an apple, and I ate a pear,
From a dozen of each we had bought somewhere;
And the sky went wan, and the wind came cold,
And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold.
We were very tired, we were very merry,
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
We hailed "Good morrow, mother!" to a shawl-covered head,
And bought a morning paper, which neither of us read;
And she wept, "God bless you!" for the apples and pears,
And we gave her all our money but our subway fares.
(Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1926)
Quite sincerely, and thanks for the very lovely posting today,
David Terry
http://www.davidterryart.com
(P.S. you really are hitting your stride as a writer…..I've been reading your stuff for a long while now).
So true! People imagine that just because you live in Paris or in Provence, the everyday annoyances don't exist. We, too, have our secret places.
A beautiful post, today. And you know what….please don't tell us where it is. We should all try to find our own little hidden place.
I don't know what else to add but only confirm you really are lucky!!