Escape to France
The church bells tolling the hours in Capestang are as accurate as an atomic clock. On this, my first evening, the swifts and swallows swoop, dive and glide on the thermals around the ancient cathedral, which dates from the Middle Ages. A large, leggy bird — could it be a stork? — claims his perch on the highest buttress. And then I see his companion stock-still on another.
Happy hour on the front terrace (there’s also one in back): Roquefort and an assertively stinky local cheese that apparently doesn’t need a name; and Picpoul, a lovely white wine from the region.
Fingernail moon tonight, just rising.
Looks like a white stork from the coloration to the head shape. Looking forward to a Paul Theroux type journey through France. Enjoy, and keep us all posted. Love ya.
Wonderful pics, wonderful words capturing your initial days there!!! Enjoy, Diana!!!
I just started reading your blog this AM, Diana. Your writing and pictures have me feeling I am there with you. How I wish I were!