South West France ~La Vie en Vert

It was a sunny, August day as we wound brightly along the hilly, narrow two-lane roads lined with verdant, pastured farm land.  The southwest of France is a shiny, picturesque dream of idyllic charm.  One painted repetitiously with plots of corn and patches of sunflower fields.  On this warm day, windows down, and blown by the steady cool wind, we buzzed past the endless fields, and I could feel the comforting presence of simplistic lifestyle where people existed closely together with the land.  My eyes took in the gleams of green– the ruffled, crowded corn stalks flaunting in the beaming sunlight, hiding their golden treasures somewhere within.  Sun glares; then flash to the next field.  Gangly-stalked, sunbaked sunflowers stood forlornly in uniform rows.  I blinked, clearing my vision, hoping to see their well-known, bright yellow-orange glory, yet realized that their season had already passed.  Slowly withering, they appeared to me like graceful soldiers, standing subdued, necks bent and heads bowed solemnly, drooping towards the dirt.

Driving further south towards Spain, one crosses into the lush landscape of the French Basque country.  Popped romantically throughout the bright green countryside rests quiet villages humbly boasting chalet-style homes tucked neatly side by side, with idyllic crimson-red rooves and shutters.  Naturally, one must stop at the pâtisserie for the Gâteau Basque or whatever other pastry delights that delight the senses, and indulge.  Because that is what must be done in France . . .

And then into the Pyrenes we ventured . . .

With camping gear strapped on our backs, up and along we started our hike.  We climbed the path through thick, shady forests which let out onto open fields lined with distant, towering mountains.  Deep resounding bells echoed loudly in the distance.  Somewhere was the herd of sheep trudging along…grazing…walking…from somewhere…to some place…

Another climb and we found ourselves entering into a meadow, idyllic with sparkling, fairy-like wonder.  Flowers of all heights adorned the thick verdant grass, contrasting beautifully in yellows, purples, and whites.  Moths flitted and bees suckled.  All that was missing was a fairy perched on some leaf stretching out her wings and giggling delightedly.  

We kept climbing.  Everywhere was a spectacle for the eyes to take in savoringly. There was something special about the light quality across these mountains.  A warm, soft glow reaches far, illuminating all that it touches.  A landscape of angles, precious and abstract.  Ridges stretching across unknown boundaries, to unknown forecasts and facets of light.  Forest green, angled by fern green, dappled with evergreens, and emeralds.  We encountered no other people and were completely alone with nature, lost in the land before us.  In this starry-eyed spectrum of vert, it was as if connecting to something eternal, something deeper, beyond myself.  It was no wonder ancient cultures saw green as the color for immortality and renewal.  The earth presented herself as a treasure in this connection.  

Almost to the top and a lake appeared, resting in the cradle of surrounding mountain.  We climbed a bit further and located the perfect flat land to pitch the tent.  It was strange, but as I tuned in to the land it was as if something ancient and holy had existed in this exact area.  Looking more closely I noticed a rock circle.  I could hardly believe what I was seeing but it was as if some prehistoric stone circle had been arranged and devoured by the grass, was just barely left visible after all these centuries.  What could it be?  There were two of them not too far from one another and I imagined ancient peoples living there in communities, or perhaps doing some religious ritual inside.  It seemed a great spot to center the tent.

One thing about mountain hiking is the unpredictable weather.  We had seen the dark approaching clouds and now the thunder was booming loudly.  Luckily, we set up the tent just in time and hurried inside.  As we lay there recovering our legs, the rain came pelting down.  The temperature dropped while we waited out the storm.  

As they say, the best sunsets come from cloudy skies.  The rain passed and the golden hour was upon us.  We walked up to the next summit and gazed out onto the setting sun onto an immense valley.  It appeared fiery, orange, and sent a glow across painted clouds.  It was a special one to behold and remember.

I leave you with a poem I wrote from within this ancient, magic rock circle…

Message from the Mountains

Finally, she blows
  To the ears of many.
Heartstrings plucked, 
 The tune for all to see and hear.
Away with your un-regal air 
 For our destiny sings songs 
  Ripened through the heart of the universe.

Sing loudly she begs, 
Fervent in all her wonder 
Lively, with decadent abandon.
My tune is yours, 
 Do you not see?
Play my remembering and lull me
To sleepless dreaming
   A world full of play–
  And it is all yours, 
		Mine, 
		Ours
The sacred tune, that we are
		All
		One.

Remember this longing?
That aching that pulls at your chest
 In the nothingness of night’s darkness,
 In the all of light’s eternity.
Bathe in resplendent sunshine 
Claim your glory
Reflect with laughter, 
Becoming amused, until 
The eternal, fateful smile returns
	Anodos
And she too will laugh
  By your side

This is the blessing, 
This is the call.
Bend forth with graceful flight
For all this is yours, 
 And all this you.

Tomorrow a new page will turn,
And as you hold it in your hand,
Close your eyes and in harmony
Make that wish that is 
	Divinely you
Send it with a kiss
   And bow . . .