As we head into the last whiffs of August, an odd sense of calm has descended over here chez nous. Even the woofers have retreated under trees or curled themselves up in freshly-dug flowerbed holes, rising only to scream up and down the front fence line at a passing village hound. With the last couple of months being filled with visitations from family and friends, the absence of bodies around the place is taking a little time to get used to especially now that my two eldest nephews have left – I’d gotten used to waking up to the sound of Louis tinkling on the piano downstairs and being serenaded by Maxime’s guitar at the end of the day. And I will forgive them for my near-fainting experience when I looked out of my bedroom window one morning and saw a hand poking out of one of the ginormous pine’s branches. For a second, I thought a body might have fallen out of a passing plane, I know but I used to read an awful lot of Reader’s Digest as a child, only to find on closer inspection that they’d thrown a stuffed gorilla up there. I did remove the potential hazard to any passing motorists but not before the boys had relocated it and hung it off the front door lantern giving half the local residents whiplash no doubt.
With the pool’s water level now reduced to tadpole swimming depth, at least we have the petanque area to enjoy especially when Denis adds in his barbecue brilliance. Before Maxime and Louis departed, we did just that and dined by the light of the impressive Blue Moon that was red seen from down here on account of the wildfire smoke drifting over from the U.S. Even after almost 4 years of living here in Rouffiac, being able to look up at the night sky without any light pollution save our ‘landing strip’ around the pool still takes my breath away. I’d turn them off except we need their luminosity to avoid breaking a toe over Denis’ miniature golf course – Arry and Sherman have chewed up the flagpoles.
It won’t be long before the nights draw in either, I mean it’ll be September this time next week. This year seems to have jumped every other month including August. Oh, it’s still hot most days but not the ‘I can’t take it anymore’ heat that we have become used to and there is a definite Autumnal feel in the early morning breeze. And we’ve even had a few decent down-pourings over the summer although yesterday evening’s predicted thunderstorm ended up being more of a polite pluie but the good kind – steady soaks into the soil rather than leave lakes to be burned up by the sun. As is the norm, Denis and I had pootled over to Le Jardin for another of Abraham’s excellent soirees and a chance to catch up with all the friends we’d seen the night before at Le Bistrot. As we drank far too much wine and laughed ourselves into a near-coma (the overindulgence of food may have helped us get to that state), the constant pitter-patter of rain drops made music over the roof above us as it gently drenched the surrounding vegetable gardens. It’s been a funny old summer…
“August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.” (Sylvia Plath)
Widow plus woofs 