There are minutes of the ticking kind and minute, minutieuse, of the little. I have a tendency to be fond of both, most especially when they meet.
High up on a mountain, a butte points over the Grands Causses, a valley known for its vultures swooping on currents of hot air.
A see of big and little so close, so close that they exchange confidences in the winds cupped around my ear.
But rather than only look out…
…searching for the sea that can be traced at the horizon…
…I wonder at the waves at my feet. Rock, field and flower.
We feel content and languor beneath the shadows of rolling clouds.
PS. Remi and I wish to thank all of you that sent such kind comments and emails for his 50th birthday…
The textures were so rich, Jenn, it is a fine spot.
PS. Yes that is heather–my namesake! It is called bruyere in French.
Oh my goodness Gallivanta that is so beautiful, I love it!! Such interesting ideas inside that brain of yours. 😉
Thank you for the kindness, G. I felt that the writing was a bit wonky but a good egg in LA encouraged me to remember and keep going forward.
xoxo
Catherine, save for the winds it would be one incredible spot for yoga!!!
And your blog is always so beautiful…
That was a beautiful tour of the landscapes and atmosphere of Provence. Just lovely. One could reach out and touch the flowers. xo Jenn
A beautiful juxtaposition of words and photos; they flow and repeat like a design on fabric. Is that the plant heather? The rock outcrop could be on our own Port Hills. I also want to add I feel the word and dance 'minuet' applies as well; minuet origin:
late 17th century: from French menuet, 'fine, delicate', diminutive (used as a noun) of menu 'small'
Your poetry + the poetry of the landscape = bliss. Merci, Madame! Bises, G
Absolute poetry, Heather…how I would love a minute on your mountain 🙂
Thank you for popping by today…always lovely to hear from you.