59.

No explanations for long silence offered.

September


The most beautiful Autumn days. Jays in the forest, chiffcaffs still calling, a booted eagle made one last visit and the kites wheel and dive when the ploughs turn the fields to red. Drought conditions here and the well is practically empty; about 30cm. of brackish water lies over the silt bottom. No use in pumping water, the trees just have to cope. I do worry about the cherry though. Its leaves droop and dessicate prematurely. Around the pear trees hornets and butterflies, red admirals, commas, speckled woods and occasionally a grayling feast on the fermenting, rotting, dropped pears. I'm glad to leave them. I've made enough pear conserves to last until Christmas.

The nights are not yet cold enough for a fire but the heat of the day is tolerable now; balmy in fact. It`s almost a full moon and I find that some bats have moved to the roof terrace for their summer roost. They plop and scrabble out of the metal edging to the roof, that is at a right angle to the pointed stone walls. Plenty of cool, daytime cavities for them there. Droppings scatter over the tiles but I'm glad to sweep them up and feel a proprietorial pride in them!

Emile is looking forward to his retirement, he says mournfully. Doesn’t rate the pension, though. Can`t sell his cows which is another catastrophe burdening him. So many years of work, he says, and look what he has got. Marie has clucked a bit on this subject and says they will have to go on working for a couple more years, at least. I can’t help biting my tongue and thinking few European farmers, the ones who are not tenants, that is, are really poor. Don’t they own land and machinery and livestock? Sooner or later these surely can produce cash.

A big flock of sand martins are skimming the lake, coming in over and over again, their brown backs flicking over to white undersides as they twist and twirl and chatter through an invisible net of insects.