Thursday, July 30, 2015
I slept about twelve hours, needed. The temperature today is cool and it has been raining softly all morning. Being here alone without Beauregard is a guilty pleasure: no need to walk him first thing, to feed him, to exercise him, to attend to his afternoon outing, to feed him dinner and walk him again, once or twice, in the evening. I feel as though I am committing adultery, but the pleasure is too great for me to try to end Beau's sojourn at Chantal's, and I hope to avoid her so that I don't have to discuss whether to take Beau back. Moving about unobserved in a village as small as Caunes stands to be a challenge over the next few days.
Having Beau away gives me time to read, and I am ploughing through Patti Smith's memoir, Just Kids, and hoping I can read more before I need to leave for Prades Monday. Throughout the summer I have not had the time to read a thing, and the pile of books in English I ambitiously brought from New York remains unread. I actually thought I would read most of Saul Bellow's major works this summer, along with a biography of Nelson Rockefeller and three or four books in France. I'll be lucky to finish three or four over the next few days, I now realize. What a problem to have!
I did the laundry this morning. One of my chief pleasures here is hanging the laundry on the line to dry. I have always believed that laundry that dries in fresh air smells better than that from a dryer, and anyway, I don't have a drier. There is green all around me, and I am coming to realize that I prefer the countryside of France to its towns, whatever their attractions. From my bedroom window I look over the slope down to rue de l'Abbaye and see that the ponies who spent a few weeks here last year are back. Of various shades of brown, they function as lawn mowers for the owner of the undeveloped field below my house. They are lovely animals, with long manes and sweet natures.
The Hautes Pyrenees were fascinating to visit, a rugged environment where self-reliance is a given. I am sure I will return next year, if not for the next edition of Equestria, then to hike and see the Col de Tourmalet, the highest paved pass in the mountains, frequently a stop on the Tour de France. The beauty of the region is indisputable, but as my home-away-from-home, I prefer the gentle hillsides of the Montagne Noir and my creature comforts, I realize.
Home Sweet Home in Caunes-Minervois. It's good to be back.
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