Through a window: Prâlon

Ma caille

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:

 

Marsannay la Côte