Our garden slopes down to a bank of trees and scrub bush where the cows are hiding on the other side. The field is full of colour, the colour green that is. Deep greens, spring greens, and soft, clear greens reflect from the grass, the weeds, the flowers, and trees themsleves. Across the valley, I see my friend's hamlet. Quiet and shadowy as it sits on the eastern slope of a hill. The outline of the houses shimmering in the drowzy afternoon sun rest in shades of thin grey and more tones of green until you reach the blue, blue sky of France. The clouds dance towards me as I stare at the sun. Far away I can see what looks to be sugar cubes resting in the fields opposite, when in reality they are the recent born calves, clean and bright.
I adore this place.