There's that famous song out there somewhere about April in Paris and if my computer had speakers, I'd actually go find it and link you to it here, but since it doesn't, I won't. But I'm sure most of you might have an idea of what song I'm referring to.
"Aprillllll.....in Paris." I sing so well, don't I?
Yes, April in Paris is a wonderful thing. Or so I've been told. I think I was in Paris one April about 10 years ago and it rained the whole time we were there. The Man and I toured the major museums with my sister & her family and then at the end of the day, we did what other people have done when it's raining in Paris and well, we got a nice little souvenir we call MH... ah yes, "Aprillllll.....in Paris...."
Ok. Sorry. Once again...I digress.
Right, it's April and we are no where NEAR Paris. We are miles from Paris. Decades, one could claim even, from Paris. This is the Auvergne. And here April is all about allergies and cow poop, baby lambs and blossoms, warm days and chilly nights. The grass gets so green this time of year. It's like I forget that this colour exists and then one early morning, the sun hits the field behind the house and I'm transported to Oz, with Dorothy as my guide. Green, glowing, alive and beautiful. Not a café or a museum in sight.
April in the Auvergne is how I will always remember France. The village, still only inhabited by year-round residents, is quite and peaceful. My people watching consists of observing the new leaves dancing with the wind. The grey volcanic stones of the houses are no longer dull and dingy with winter's light, they are now brilliant and sparkling, the perfect cadre for purple blossoms, white flowers, yellow daffodils, a sharp blue sky, and that green, green grass.
Close your eyes. See it. Sit with me on my front steps, have a coffee, and watch the world go by, one meandering cow at a time.
Souvenirs of my Auvergne. Sing it with me, "Aprillllll.....in Paris....."