La Vie Villageoise, #2

Down the path and around the corner. . .

. . .Is the direction I took once I’d pulled on jeans and some comfortable shoes and headed out, camera slung around my neck. I couldn’t pretend to just be on my way to the boulangerie for the morning bread with that camera staring at everyone like a black cyclops.

Still, I tried to be discreet. I ambled. And hummed, kicking pebbles.


Occasionally whistling.


Around another corner and over someone’s beautiful old wall. . .

You’ve noticed, these shots are unpeopled. The village is not, though, I promise. It is, in fact, inhabited, and the folks sure look hospitable — we all greet each other with “Bonjour Madame, Monsieur, les enfants” — whatever — when we pass in the street.

But I didn’t want to ambush anyone quite yet for the right photo-op.

We’ll meet a bit later, on September 1st, at the annual village gathering. . .

I wanted to bury my head in this ivy. Or take a mouthful of it. Thought twice when a classroom of kiddies walked by right then. Might have to make a midnight visit.

Roads made for horses, not Hummers.

The cornice above the door reads 1791. Although the carpets might be newer. Maybe.

When you come back tomorrow, I’ll tell you more about this, a family’s private chapel just across the street. . .

And this, the château . . . where a great French author used to lodge . . .

© Melissa Dalton-Bradford and, 2012. This work (text and images) is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. . . which means, as long you’re not selling it, you’re welcome to share, but please remember to give me a link and mention my name.

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