This place is very hot and still today. It’s also very quiet because there’s no electricity. This is maybe because of the heat, a storm or the early retirement of the man who apparently pedals a generator that provides us with intermittent current so long as the weather remains at its most clement: this means no wind, rain, snow, frost, sun or anything else untoward. The silence throughout the hamlet reassures me that I had not forgotten to pay the bill.The bees seemed very loud in this silence so I set off to market.
Every Wednesday morning, in the summer months, there’s a small market nearby which is comprised of two or three stalls. Between them they sell mussels and oysters, fruit and vegetables and hats. Hats have the largest stall and the least customers. Maybe hat buying takes place later, as the sun gathers in strength. Noticeably, there’s no sense of urgency here, no anxiety in waiting for one’s turn to be served as those waiting are conversing with each other and are happy just to be there. Bunches of radishes or single potatoes are turned over and examined: this is shopping for eating. The small gathering of customers swells and diminishes like breathing.
On the way home the scent of wild mint is intoxicating. The hedgerows are being cut and trimmed, causing every wild herb and flower to give up its fragrance into the warmth of the summer air. The “fauchage”, at this time of year, always leaves a cloud of aromatic perfume in its wake.
Home and electricity courses through the dangling overhead cable once more. I feel that I’ve stepped out of one time into another.