27.
June
Cherries, let's talk cherries; a great, wide umbrella of a tree, bowing down with clusters of almost plum sized fruit, crimson, scarlet and black. Easy to pluck, easy to gather in handfuls, dropping them into buckets, baskets and pans. Sylvie and I are on tiptoes, on a hummock, stretching not to miss any, even the bird damaged ones, and looking up into the roof of leaves where the fruits hang like transluscent jewels, bunches of earrings. It's almost a shame to separate them from their tree.
Red is on the mountainsides too. Bertrand has said it is a catastrophe: the conifers are dying. How is that, I have asked, when there has been so much rain? Ah no, this is a result of increasing drought over some years. The snows are just not like they used to be. It's happening everywhere, he has told me and the evergreens' roots can't delve deep on those limestone slopes.
Sylvie scratches her knees as she sits on an upturned bucket and watches the rippling, emerald grassland being cut and lain in great swathes all around us. ' Limes are struggling too, on the higher ground, even though they root much deeper', she tells me. 'And they're usually so happy mixed up with the spruces and pines. 'World wide', she tuts, 'mondial,--all these changes'.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Monday, June 02, 2008
May 19th.
It has been so wet; so, so wet--everywhere. The swifts screech low, skimming the insects that have descended in this lowering sky. There is a heavy scent of lime flowers in the air. 5 crows on a silage bale, like blue-black royals, strut up and down the limited space; their own language. Electric glimmerings and flashings warn out over the mountains; rumbles and clashes vibrate the window frames. Marie has told me that when her children were young there had been a huge storm and a ball of electrical fire had rolled through her house, conducted by the water meter, apparently. [I think and hope that they are earthed nowadays]. It flashed from front to back, up over the kitchen table and into the barn, which ignited. There was a massive fire and hence the barn roof is now tin. No wonder she is always so afraid of thunder storms.
Sheet rain is building up and I watch a row of swallows , pointing their beaks to the sky as they grip the swinging telephone wires. The rain, turns to hail, then drops again, pours down their backs.. When there is a lull they smooth and gloss their feathers, shake and preen but do not dare fly off. Rain shutes once more and the swallows are like vertical pegs on a washing line until after 70 minutes the storm eases up and with further shaking, fluffing of feathers and flapping of wings, the first brave ones take off in the gloaming to roost. A hungry night.
It has been so wet; so, so wet--everywhere. The swifts screech low, skimming the insects that have descended in this lowering sky. There is a heavy scent of lime flowers in the air. 5 crows on a silage bale, like blue-black royals, strut up and down the limited space; their own language. Electric glimmerings and flashings warn out over the mountains; rumbles and clashes vibrate the window frames. Marie has told me that when her children were young there had been a huge storm and a ball of electrical fire had rolled through her house, conducted by the water meter, apparently. [I think and hope that they are earthed nowadays]. It flashed from front to back, up over the kitchen table and into the barn, which ignited. There was a massive fire and hence the barn roof is now tin. No wonder she is always so afraid of thunder storms.
Sheet rain is building up and I watch a row of swallows , pointing their beaks to the sky as they grip the swinging telephone wires. The rain, turns to hail, then drops again, pours down their backs.. When there is a lull they smooth and gloss their feathers, shake and preen but do not dare fly off. Rain shutes once more and the swallows are like vertical pegs on a washing line until after 70 minutes the storm eases up and with further shaking, fluffing of feathers and flapping of wings, the first brave ones take off in the gloaming to roost. A hungry night.