A Roman Portal

Saturday, August 15, 2009

I loved my walk on Wednesday so much - it felt so good to really get some exercise - that I want to do it again. So I’m off to St. Pierre again, and today I intend to get there!

Early morning was cool, but now it’s hot. That’s pretty much the pattern here. There is no air conditioning, but with thick stone walls we don’t need it.

I’ve put on Bill’s hat, and I’ve rolled up and pinned the yoga pants I brought to wear around the house. A baggy t-shirt completes my look. I can only hope some French driver doesn’t kill me, because I don’t want my picture in The Middletown Journal in this outfit even if I am lying on the road in a pool of blood in a foreign country, which would normally win me sympathy points.

One of the special delights of walking here is the butterflies - dozens of them dance and dart through the wildflowers along the road.

Suddenly there is a great flapping of wings as a pheasant rises into the air from the side of the road where I’m walking. Three more follow it. I briefly look for the nest but don’t see it

Today at the crossroads I look carefully at the sign pointing to St. Pierre. Instead of turning left, I need to continue another 1.5 kilometers straight ahead

I’m glad I’ve come. The village is even tinier than St. Vincent, but the houses are very pretty, one particularly so. Then I see the church.

This is a greeting-card church, with huge hydrangeas planted all along the side, and an enclosed churchyard. Ivy clings to the walls. It’s so pretty, and though I’ll never do it justice in a photograph, but I’m going to come back here later today with Bernie and take pictures.

Usually there is an information board by the door of these churches, and there is one here that includes a telephone number to call for the key. We’ll get a picture of that, too.

On the other side of the door is a historical information notice. There’s an 11th-12th century Roman door here. The church was added onto in the 16th century.

Am I just a silly romantic? Or is it good to be able to see and touch these things. All is impermanent, and will all be dust, but sometimes I can almost see behind the veil that separates us from those who have gone before.