Sunday, August 01, 2010

Turning our heads towards the sky

If we hadn't, finally, hit the back roads the other day, we might have missed seeing this sunflower-filled field, which stretched, like the ocean, towards the horizon, before the sunflowers got too tired to hold up their heavy heads any longer. Imagine if your head were full of seeds?

(That church is not really leaning, I am.)

(Isla was like an addict in a pharmacy when she got a load of these flowers. "Can you drop me off here, so I can pick some?" she asked.)

This light, real sunlight, not just the muted daylight that has been substituting for it for the past two weeks, came sneaking into my window and lurked for a while in the hall, beckoning, making flickering liquid promises, the other morning.

By the time we got organized, the familiar troops were assembling in the sky, threatening to slide the velvet gray curtain closed once again.

"You know why they're called tournesol?" Esther said, standing in this meadow.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because they turn their heads towards the sun. '"Tourner,"' means turn and "sol" is short for "soleil," which means sun."

"You are a clever possum," I said.

"And 'sol' also means the ground. When the sun isn't out, they point their head to the ground."

We've been pointing our heads to the ground for far too long, feeling sorry for ourselves because our "vacation" had ended. But we've suddenly remembered our life here in France is essentially an extended vacation. Shit, we've still got half our stuff in bags.

We've got nothing to hang our heads about. Nothing at all.

More enlightenment can be found over here.


Liz said...

I cannot imagine uprooting our lives as you have done. I know it has not been easy. Yet, each time I read your posts I'm envious. I'm always searching for some clue, some bit of knowledge that would tell me how you do it.

Your perspective and your writing keeps me coming back again and again.

Karin (an alien parisienne) said...

"Your perspective and your writing keeps me coming back again and again."

Ditto for me.

And oh what wonderful pictures. Just love them! I love the expressions on the girlies' faces, lol.

I'll remember to turn my head to the sun today. Thanks. :)

Betsy said...

Liz: I don't know how I do it. Pure stubbornness, along with the nagging feeling that life is short and I don't want to spend it all on the same couch. That said, I would give my kingdom for any couch right about now. We don't have one here where we are living.Nor do we have a toaster, or a blender, or a truly comfy chair, or a standup shower, or an empty closet, or, or, or......

Karin: Good luck finding that sun. Has it been hiding in Paris too?
I'm not usually so sensitive to the weather, but....sheesh. Getting tired of that particular color gray up there.
The sun is shining now, however.

Emma said...

Such gorgeous pictures! Absolutely magical. And your Esther is a clever possum indeed.

C. said...

Gorgeous aren't they? I still haven't got used to seeing them everywhere in July. Other things to be grateful for in France, Betsy? Cavaillon melons in summer, Gariguette strawberries from Provence in May, a decided lack of stripmalls in French villages, and since you live in Burgundy, then of course, a glass of divine ice-cold Puligny-Montrachet (if you haven't tried it yet, you must). Keep looking for the beauty and you'll find it, you always do.

Betsy said...

C. You are so right. I can't count the number of melons I've consumed. I eat them whole.
And listening to the radio without having to turn it off every second because they might be talking about something completely inappropriate. And the long, slow, weekend lunches....