This summer 2024 in SSE France has been exquisite. Cloudless skies, soft breezes, flowers blooming in succession. Morning fogs descend the hills burning off by 9AM. Heavy rains in April and May burst a dam far upstream, flooding some houses in Semur, and greened the countryside. Now and then, a day is uncomfortably hot, but by 10PM the air has cooled, the heat dissipated. The nights are serene—a horse snorting in its sleep, a Charolais calling her calf, an ewe scolding an errant lamb.
The terrace is my weakness. We look out onto rolling Burgogne hills over pastures of sheep, horses and Charolais cattle grazing. I sit—then sit some more—with my coffee and list of tasks, organized by priority, unseen at my elbow.
I press the button for double espresso on my Delonghi Magnificas. Looking beyond this circle of hills, the quiet French countryside, I don’t believe that I have observed a time so troubled in America, in Eastern Europe, in the Middle East, as I see now. This post probably should be titled Спокойное меÑто. The next would be, I suppose, Ñмутное времÑ? I’ll explain the terms in the next post.
