One day I was in Britain, en Bretagne, which is the West of France. I was in the countryside, I had my camera in had, and I was chasing dragonflies…
It was really full summer. Quiet blue sky. Really, a pleasant promenade, a pleasant walk.
(I think you don’t have a word in America for our French “promenade”. Let’s say it’s “to have a walk”, with more Frenchiness I suppose : you walk, you wander, you just walk slowly with no goal, no purpose, you smell the air, “le nez au vent”, the nose in the wind, as we say, voilà).
So. I quit the path and I went on the right, near a little wood. Some quiet water was walking along the wood’s border. I did too. Fireflies hunt just above the water, as you know.
(we have two beautiful words to say “the border” of a forest : “l’orée” is colored by “the entrance” idea, and “la lisière”, which sounds, for us, like “the line which is the border of the woods”).
French has more words about certains things, but I realised a long time ago how rich English can be too!…
Suddenly I stopped in the sun. I felt it.
Something is watching me.
A coomb. A little clairière (a clearing). I felt danger. I was amazed by the quality of the threat. I ran away, quickly.
Some places are watching you. Are they haunted? Is there something coming from you? Is it the light, a sudden silence, a mystery, a ghost?
Sometimes (for examples after a dream), your guts are speaking. You just have to listen. It’s a matter of life or death!
Thanks for reading!