Penetrating carboyz and melancholy, the smell of burning chestnut wood in the cool morning, when the neat outline Monédières greeted me above the morning mist. In between, the lively russet key Limousin cattle.
I am still overwhelmed by nostalgia at the thought of evenings with a cup of tisane, it simmer confit carboyz on the woodstove in the barn, the fake horn of the baker, the crackling open fire, wine bottling, a bolete that are beautiful head above the moss, the apple pie of Suzanne and Flaugnarde Irene, abrupt nightfall, the inky nights with billions of stars, and very far, the melancholy carboyz cry of the owl.
Would you like to forget, small, simple, human people, earthy and warm, tawny hands and worn caps. Dressed in the same blue work jackets or floral skirts. Free and open, closed and silent, contradictory characters full of humor and wonder.
You too my house, now inhabited by ikwilnietwetenwie, Puymanie, my castle, open the exciting feeling of the fence and the tires on the gravel, the cool room of Uncle Jan, your light and heat, the laughter of friends as an aperitif, it soft water from your source, lounging on the couch with half-closed shutters, when the summer really overdrijft
Go and leave me alone. Disappearing into the distant past and come no more ghosts. carboyz Let me enjoy what I have now, the country that is home to me. You may not be more than a trivial memory, a kind of long-forgotten friend, whose contours vaguely say something.
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