Am I the only one that talks to trees? I don't think so but just the act of tip, tap typing that question makes me realize the oddballity of it.
But I believe in them. As in have Faith.
We spied the row of oaks outside of Simiane-la-Rotonde and were drawn to them, moth to a flame.
"C'est les centenaires," Banco, the owner of La Buissonade, our cottage rental explained. He knows. He walks this land every day with his dog at his side.
So much life has passed by its bark, so many storms and flitting butterflies.
The sun was starting to slide as we found the path that lead to them. A path they lined, that had once lead to somewhere. A home, a chapel, a forgotten village.
The largest oak looked even more alive than it was, as if it could wrap its branches around me with a wap and I'd be gone. So I told it thank you for standing guard, solid strong for all of this time...
...here where the wild things are.
I want to extend a sincere thank you to all of you that responded to my previous post either in the comments or by email. What an amazing community and I feel grateful to be a reason for such fine minds to come together.
Wishing you all a wonderful weekend.
UPDATE: Hello there! If you are seeing this on Sunday, I am delighted to be guest-posting over a the truly amazing D.A. Wolf's "Daily Plate of Crazy" on the idea of Provence Time...liking that concept? I thought that you would!
The link is Here.