Another day of “just” cycling. I meet an 80 something year old woman at the grocery store. She sees me loading groceries into my panniers and smiles and walks over. She tests the tires by squeezing them and examines the headlight. Everything seems to be to her satisfaction. She then tells me she was born in Malasia and lived there till she was 20, met her husband and moved to France. She proudly tells me of the travels she and her husband have done in their camper van. She asserts, “I am a citizen of the world.” She and her husband get into a rather heated discussion, he feels she is now a French citizen. She remains adament. She turns to me and tells me she doesn’t like living in France, and would move but her husband needs hip surgery and can’t go anywhere. She shakes her head in frustration and stares pointedly at her husbands cane. She looks at me with fierce eyes and says “He has a pacemaker too- if he goes- I go.” Which I take to mean that if he dies, she will leave France. And she hugs her baguettes close to her bosom and turns to follow her husband, who has thrown up his hands in exasperation and limped away.,.,.,.,.,.,. The fire never dies.
Another cold night. I drink in the chilled air like ice wine. The blackness cocoons my little light harbor as I read and write and lie on my back and listen. When camping the night is such a generous stretch of time. In this quiet darkness attention can be paid to dawning ideas and feelings. Then sleep pulls me back into it’s embrace.
Yellow Caterpillar tending its wood chip mountain. I took this picture for Gail, my manager. Your combination of sensibility and ethics frees my mind from worry. That is also true of Leslie and Stacey.