Definitely the far better storyteller anyway

I reckon this is what happens when one bedrocks one’s world by trying only to comprehend its tiniest details: the one picture I took that delineates my attentiveness to commemorate our glorious day trip yesterday with our dear friend to Saint-Benoît-du-Sault, a medieval village not that far from Les Pierres, nestled around its priory (970) and its church restored to its pre-Romanesque architecture (1020-1030) sheltered by its ramparts, perched on a rocky outcrop, dominating as if in an amphitheater, the valley of the nearly dried up river Portefeuille, can only portray the pink wild cyclamen that caught our eyes on the perambulation of this gem of a thorp.

If you want to know what the village actually looks like I suggest you head over to my husband’s account, as he’s definitely the far better storyteller anyway.

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