After a long night drive, we are back in Blighty. Each trip to L’Oustal becomes more of a wrench when we have to leave, as each time it becomes a little more of our home – as, indeed, one day it will be.
This time of the year is bittersweet for me; it is still late summer, yet August wanes into September; a hybrid month, neither summer nor autumn. The chill snap and heavy dew of morning are sharp reminders of the winter to come yet the afternoons are gentle and warm. It is this time of the year that I mourn the passing of summer and dread the cold dark days of winter to come. Yet, still, in those last throes of the dying summer, the landscape presents its latent beauty in the glorious morning light that only occurs at this time of the year. For it is now that those early mists rise from the fields and hedgerows to catch the golden light of the rising sun that bathes the buildings on the horizon with a gentle bronze gold colour.
That’s why I just had to stop and take this picture.
Just looking at that picture makes me feel well-rested. Thanks for posting that, Mark 🙂
Just looking at that picture makes me feel well-rested. Thanks for posting that, Mark 🙂
That photo reminds me of one of the subjects for my aunt’s oil paintings. Very serene, indeed!
Ah mist, indeed a photographer’s friend, a very evocative picture and well-framed. I am pretty much consigned to live in this country until 2020 when my youngest hits 18 but then I’m off!
That is a great picture. Thanks for posting it 🙂
Gorgeous pic, I wouldn’t want to be driving away from there either. So I take it you plan to retire in France?
That sounds wonderful. I’d love to do the same. Maybe one day!