With Autumn officially here, the morning temperature was cool. But windows were opened as the sun made its way higher in the sky. This afternoon I was in shorts and short sleeves as I set off on the bike. “Été indien,” Indian summer, is how this warm
weather is described. The first part of the ride was new to me, heading to Cenomes, a small village, and then traversing the valley alongside a small stream. Large rolls of hay dried in the sun as part of getting ready for winter to come.
Next came the road I have traveled many a time on bicycle
and on foot. Starting the climb, I noted the place where I had seen that fuchsia sweet pea. And here was where the horse had come to greet me by the fence. And there was the village so picturesque it coerces a photo each time I pass it.
I have been here only a few weeks, yet trails and roads have been layered with memories leading into my heart. It feels like the land is reaching up, grabbing my heel, and calling my name. Connection to place, be it a region of land or the soul’s inner chamber, is like the ker-chunk of a stick shift when it slips into first gear.