I am a crying machine. A sympathy crying machine and a sadness sponge.
B’s grandmother had a stroke and passed away while we were on Ile d’Yeu.
We went back to the village where she grew up.
Back to the cemetery where we buried his cousin 1 month ago.
Back to the same mortuary.
I thought I would drown in all the sadness.
But there is something very survivalist about the human soul. It is as though you reach a limit and your body and mind self-regulate.
It was hot. We played games and chitchatted, organized the ceremony. Had lunch and dinner outside. The sky in a village tucked away amid the hills is inky black.
I can’t remember the last time I saw so many stars.
The Burgundian village of Prâlon: