22.

May 4th

Beside the slow river a man with a navy blue cap is sitting, rod resting beside him. He says he is only really here for the nature; doesn’t have much luck with the fish. A golden Oriole sings its ‘lillity leeo’ high in the bankside of poplars. Armies of budding foxgloves line the ditches and tall, slender leaved campanula are showing pleats of colour on their breaking buds. In a week or so waves of blue and pink will creep up the banks.

I see a tail less lizard on a stony path leading to the river. A cat`s trophy. Beads of blood become black spots; first the lizard is a dull, buff colour, but on my return it has become a shimmering, turquoise corpse.

Later, I'm out along the lanes with a wheel barrow, looking for some broken pallets that I spotted some time ago. They will make great compost bins. With very little warning I see blue flickers of lightening behind the mountain ridges. I had forgotten that earlier, I had watched the sky turning to a violet slate . Marie was quite right. Rumbles of approaching thunder follow; forlorn splashes are turning quickly into sheets of rain. A car stops with hazard lights on; there’s no moving in this sudden deluge. In seconds the roads are glass lakes, skating routes; streams of water bubbling into verges. Someone continues to drive, slows down, stops and asks if I need a lift. I cannot see the driver through a curtain of hair and water. I point to an open barn beside the lane and say I’ll shelter there, but thanks.

Emile’s last hay is bundled into fat cylinders in that barn. More are roughing it out in the fields. I join the dry ones, along with a tortoiseshell cat who hisses at my intrusion and slinks to a higher position. I sit out the storm until, amazingly quickly, the sky clears.

The car has gone and I head home with the barrow but minus any pallets. Everything is steaming; the trees, the grasses, the road surfaces and me…