Poetry Spotted In Passing . . .

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What's not to love about a window like this one ?
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Or a door like this ?
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Or a hand-painted wall ?
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Or a sign like this ?
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Seems to be a lot of visual poetry out there yet.
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Doors to Other Worlds . . .

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Life is often composed as much by things that might have been, but were not, as by things that were. As each day slips into the irretrievable past, memories take on dream like qualities. Was I really there ? Do these photographs tell the truth, these stolen moments in time ?
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I often see doors I want to open, doors beyond which lie worlds to discover, the vast, infinite worlds of the other, he or she who we will never know. So many of those doors are locked, and no one is home. No key can be found. Rare is the door that opens into the warm kitchen of another, where a bowl of soup stands steaming on a rough hewn table. Where a story awaits the traveller.
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These virtual doors we call blogs, sometimes they open into the rich new universe of a perfect stranger. Sometimes doors that seemed to open swing shut again without warning. Some blogs just disappear, leaving no forwarding address. A light goes out. A voice goes silent. A door is shut and locked. A key is lost. I guess that's life, and trying to make sense of it may not always bring any satisfaction. My warmest wishes to the open doors out there, may your candles burn brightly in the night.
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I cannot help but wonder though sometimes, what treasures lie beyond these closed doors.
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Exploring Dark Places . . .

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Where to start ?
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Work kept me more than busy into the wee hours of every morning last week, then Saturday rolled around and daughter needed to go shopping for school things, papa had to open up the wallet at the store. Then all night long la grenouille and I were rocking and rolling, dancing, sipping wine and nibbling cheese (what else is there to do in France ???), and conversing in very, very good company. Sunday morning rolled around and I rolled out of bed, headed right back out to go visit an abandoned sugar factory, for the second time, and it was as sweet as it sounds. More on that soon.
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The only trouble is that the "more on that soon" topics have been accumulating for years now, and I still have simply tons of photos to share with you from all over, the old black and white film days, Haiti, la Réunion island, abandoned factories in the USA, Brittany, and odds and ends from all over. I'm beginning to think another two or three lifetimes will be necessary to do all that I want to do. Sigh. Well, we do what we can, while we can, and that's it.
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I would like to mention a continuing source of inspiration, and that is the Tumblr site of TomB... he continues to post very tasty samples of his simply delicious work. And I couldn't help but think of Tom this afternoon when I spied an old stone house with bare rafters way out in the middle of a rainy farm field. There was only one thing to be done, and that was to go take a closer look. The photos that follow show what I saw. (oh, and please do tell ten or twenty friends to go take a look at Tom's pages, his photos are sublime. Just imagine, if all ten thousand people who visit here every day were to tell just ten other people to go visit Tom's page, why, that would give Tom's site a hundred thousand page hits... wouldn't that be way cool ???)
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So, who lived here in this small stone home long ago ? Where did they go ? Will anyone ever live here again ? I'm willing to bet there may a few souls out there who would love to take this on as a fixer-upper project. Just look, those roof beams are still standing strong, just need to slap a new roof on them.

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I have to admit, we may want to find a new interior decorator, I have some doubts about the last one whose work is visible here.
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The roof on the farm shed behind the house may also need a bit of freshening up.
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And now for something completely different. I'd like to add that for quite some time I have been keeping an eye on Rima's blog The Hermitage, and am simply in awe of her artwork and down to earth approach to life on our planet. Several weeks ago she did a beautifully long post about a painting she did which has become the cover art for a book called Dark Mountain, which is a recent production of the Dark Mountain Project. After reading Rima's post, and taking a look at their website, I ordered a copy of the book, both to have one of Rima's paintings in the house, and to discover the writing from the Dark Mountain, which imho, is well worth discovering. Do take a look if you're curious, and if hooked like I was, then order the book. It is perhaps the most thought provoking work I've come across in quite some time. This is the cover, by Rima.
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Ruins From the Past . . .

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September is upon us, I hardly saw it coming
This month then marks three years spent at this table blogging
Seems like yesterday the first tentative steps were taken
Upon this path, this trail, this road, this highway, this byway
I had no great expectations of causing any sensation
It was simply a way to break a bond of silence
To throw open a door and unleash a minor flood
Of photographs, thoughts, and poems penned in blood
That were languishing forgotten in drawers and books
Hiding in dark corners where no one ever looked
Who can say if this time is worth the trouble
A few kindred souls have found their way to this place
Since the doors to mr. toad's trove were thrown open
That alone is good, but then where to from here
Shall we continue this late night typing yet another year ?
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What does it take to unlock the potential for transmission
From one mouth to another's ear and so on and so forth
Until the chain of mouth to ear has spanned the earth ?
Where is the key to open a rusted lock ?
Are some locks better left unopened ?
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If we could open the locks and open the doors
Could we ever get back to places we remember from long before
Where children played in the street under grandpa's watchful eye
Narrow streets with cobbled stones lined by stone houses
Where magic lanterns hang to light the evening shadows
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Could we ever return to our ancient farms of piled stones ?
Where a cow waiting to be milked softly lowed
And a fire in the hearth quietly burned
Life had other rhythms then, music from another age
I'm not certain we could even hear it any more
For we have turned a page.

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Would we even know how to build a stone house like this today ?
Or would it be but a pale imitation ?
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Is it too late to resurrect the ruins from our past ?
Is there anyone alive who would want to ?
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Something For Everyone . . .

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Somewhere in the south of France
Is a land that time forgot
I went there to forget
The madness of this world of ours
For a little while
And as I rushed back up the highway
At close to seventy miles an hour
Away from that place today
I wondered at all we have forgotten
All we have allowed to fade away
Wisdom in the earth and plants and beasts
How the village gathered for the ritual feasts
Now ancient stone buildings fall
Into ruins that call, that call
For some caring hand
To come rebuild those walls...
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These first two images may give you a little bit of an idea as to why I'm in love with the Causse Méjean, and have been since I first went there over twenty years ago. There is something there for everyone.
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Back in 1878 Robert Louis Stevenson travelled through the Cévennes, stopping in Florac, accompanied by his beloved donkey Modestine. I think some of her descendants are still living in the area. This is another one dedicated to Stickup Artist ; she may just have to take a little trip to southern France to go see some of these handsome creatures for herself.
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As some of you apparently appreciated the butterfly on lavender image in the last post, here is another photo from that same lavender bush, which was the largest lavender plant I've ever seen, in the cemetery in Saint Enimie, Gorges du Tarn.
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Finally, over the past few years, there has been a lot of very fine blogging going on at "Life Is Beautiful". Many exchanges with Jeff, the creator of Life Is Beautiful, have led me to the conclusion that he is a fine connaisseur of certain kinds of beverages, for which the French name is "tisane". Tisanes are drinks made from various sorts of herbs which are steeped in hot water in order to extract the active ingredients and flavors in the herbs, along the lines of herbal tea. I've sometimes wondered though if Jeff may on occasion be referring to other forms of liquid refreshments when speaking of tisanes, as he has indicated that he enjoys some tisanes which travel in barrels. I mentioned to Jeff just the other day that I had seen some tisane barrels near Florac recently, and that visual proof would soon be forthcoming... here it is. ( Jeff, désolé encore pour l'anglais, mais la traduction prend du temps, et voilà, bien que j'aime la langage de Molière, ma langage adoptée, l'anglais vient plus facilement et plus vite, et puis, pour ceux qui sont en dehors de l'hexagone, certains ont un peu du mal à comprendre autre chose que l'anglais, voilà tout. Sur ce, je te laisse imaginer ce qu'il y avait comme contenu dans ces jolis fûts anciens. Les deux premiers se trouvaient dans la rue à Florac, mais le troisième j'ai déniché dans la cave d'une très ancienne maison en ruine sur le Causse Méjean... Je me demandais si c'était peut-être la maison de ta grand-mère ? Est-ce qu'elle aussi aimait les tisanes ? ) 
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Another Appetizer . . .

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Hello one and all ! Although I had been hoping to do at least a little bit of blogging in the evening after long days out in the wilds of the Cévennes National Park and the Causses, it turned out the "free and unlimited wifi access" in the hotel was actually nearly inexistant, it only worked on two evenings out of the all the past week, so I've been disconnected from everything... which is not necessarily a bad thing, except that I couldn't get out to visit anyone, and couldn't respond to comments, or post any of the numerous photos that have been happening over the past several days. We are here in Florac until Monday, so maybe once back home in the north the floodgates will open and photos will start appearing through the aperture of the magic lantern. In the meanwhile you will have to survive with just another small appetizer (which I'm trying to get up quickly while the wifi is working this evening!). A door leading to the alternate universe which is the Causse Méjean, and a butterfly spotted feasting on a lavender plant in Saint Enimie, in the Gorges of the Tarn River. Best wishes to all, can't wait to get back in touch with your blogs, and to bring you more images from this splendid part of the world.
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Dream Houses to Ponder . . . Over Yonder . . .

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One or two of you, perhaps three or four
Said you had enjoyed the dream house in the post before
That you had admired the broken down door
The failing shutters crumbling stones peeling paint galore
So I thought if this is what you like
Then perhaps you should have some more
That you may know this is no passing fling
This love for houses in various states of abandoning
This is not puppy love this is a serious thing
The flame burns deep in my heart smolders in my bones
I think of them late at night while sitting up alone
These houses in every degree of disrepair
Once full of warmth now feel only despair
As water and wind and frost colder than they can bear
Perform the slow work of demolition without care
Stone by stone, frame by frame
Once you fall in love with such a place
Then who is to blame
That you will never, ever again be the same
So I dream that one day I will find one for sale
Where I can live out my days
Quietly sitting down to finish this tale
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(Maison à Vendre = House for Sale)
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Maybe it will have shutters like these
All boarded up against the cold breeze
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The back yard may be a bottlefield where piles of glass have grown
Perhaps I'll manage to add a few of my own
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Some people call an empty bottle a dead soldier
If such was the case then this was a massacre
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Nevertheless I would put out pots of flowers in a crumbling alcove
To proclaim loud and clear a message of love
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I think such places must be inhabited by men
Who go out each day to feed birds again and again
For what else is left in life when one is sixty plus ten ?
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Lace curtains allow the light to come in
But hide the room within from passing glances
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Yes, I'd like to come home to an auld place like this
Throw open the shutters, give the missus a kiss
Sit by the window for a while with a drink and reminisce
About all the dream houses there are in the world to miss
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Out Rambling Around . . .

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This afternoon I was given orders by my daughter that her immediate happiness depended on being driven quite some distance to a friend's house, so despite the rising gasoline prices of late, I obliged her, as it also gave me a good reason to get out and get some fresh, if somewhat freezing, air visiting some places that I hadn't seen before. Like the church in the village of Versigny.
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Where there was an odd sort of gargoyle with a jester's cap and a pointed nose . . .
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Stepping up close to the base of the tower gave another perspective, and a view of the dark underbelly of another gargoyle.
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The Chateau of Versigny was built back in the 1600's.
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A plaque at the entrance announced the role that it had played in World War One. I wasn't particularly looking for more WWI history sites today, but they were looking for me I guess.
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For the past few weeks I've been remiss, I'm guilty, I've missed a few episodes of Weekend Reflections over at James' place, so am diving back in with a little splash with this scene from the moat around the entrance to a lovely property at Droizelles, just up the road from Versigny.
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Looking the other way along the same stretch of water, another reflection. Weekend Reflections rocks !
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Though I searched the web I could not find any mention of what transpired at or near Droizelles on 9 September, 1914, at the start of the war, though one site had a list of the names 49 men of the 317th Infantery Regiment who died at Droizelles that day very early in the war. Ten of those men and their Captain are buried in the graveyard around the church.
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The broken plaque on Captain Paradis' tomb spoke in eloquent silence of how paradise was lost and "France" was cut in two. He was awarded the Legion of Honor.
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The church in Droizelles has one of the loveliest crucifixion sculptures I've ever come across.
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The textures of aging stone and lichens multiplied the character of the original carving toward the realm of the infinite. Rarely has a religiously oriented work of art moved me like this did.
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Passing through an out of the way and obscure village which we had no good reason to visit, other than that it was visible on the map, we were rewarded by a dream house just waiting for a lover of dream houses to drive by and notice her. What is not to love about this place ? The window pane on the left side of the door was missing, the gauze curtain was blowing in the wind.
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On the way home the sky caught fire . . .
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