Behind all corners in Greater Pierres, a term of endearment for the valley we look upon, a different painting reveals itself, coherently created for my own personal and private viewing pleasure, or so it seems as I’m so rarely disturbed while worshipping the bewildered skies of a world wherein cows eyes pry, pigs fly and dogs cannot but also try. I adore the satin soft elephant ears of my darling boy, all at once in tune with his strengths and weaknesses, moving like a mesmerizing machine, endowing wings to life, all life encountered and that includes me, sometimes, by sheer luck.
Far more often however, I austerely demonstrate to be the counterweight to his energy that bursts at its seams, an obstruction I blame mostly on my failing knee, or, as my sister and I jokingly used to ease our shared shade, on being brutally bitten yet again by a dog named RA, with a rather twisted sense of humor combining our favorite animal with a dire disease.
With Ivory gone to Holland for work, a heart too big to say no and a mind recognizing what’s distinctively needed, this established excuse obviously goes quickly up the sprout, so I find myself these days in preferred company plowing through this incredible hinterland, enamored by its pristine scenery.
In our years at the local chateau, where the owners were freaked by the unbridled costs of regulative legal water management into actually emptying their lake, a ravaging decision solely based on a bogus fear but certainly not unprecedented in our area, we got somewhat acquainted with the stringency of these governmental interventions and the ecological responsibilities they entail. These strict directives have sadly driven many locals away because of their unworkable and unaffordable bureaucracy, ironically leaving their once thriving industrial properties, like watermills, to the same elements the thus broken rules are supposed to prioritize and favorize.
Completely captivated by the fierceness these walks uncover, all I needed without ever knowing it beforehand, I always return to our tiny Les Pierres comfortably convinced by its size, its magic and the correctness of our choice to never have to empty a lake.