Heroes Not Zombies

I live in rural South West France, in a department called “Charente” which is the name of the slow moving, chilled out, river which runs through this land.

Perhaps the most characteristic feature of the landscape around here is vineyards. The rows and rows of vines are dedicated to the production of an alcohol called cognac, and the town of the same name is just a few kilometres from where I write this.

From the vineyards to the distilleries, the barrel makers, bottling plants and marketers, to the agricultural machinery and distillery equipment manufacturers and sellers, to the professional blenders, the groups of vineyard workers pruning, tying the vines along the wires, spraying the plants with herbicides and insecticides or tending to their fields with newly fashionable “bio” methods of viniculture, to the tasters and storytellers who turn these complex honey coloured liquids into magical hints of memories and desires, this is a whole complex web of human activity which forms a distinct culture.

I haven’t even begun to consider the non-human elements of this culture….the geography, geology, and ecology of this land.

Perhaps one of the most striking phenomena of this place is in the sky, however. I haven’t counted them but I’d be surprised if most years the majority of evenings in the year display pink, red or crimson skies at sunset.

You might think it’s so common that it becomes background, barely noticed, rarely acknowledged. But you’d be wrong. Night after night I notice the reddening of the sky, seeing the colour of the light change as it illuminates the pale stone walls, the dark leaves of the mulberry tree, or any clouds passing by.

I notice it, I get up, look out the window and, more often than not, go outside.

A couple of evenings ago the moon, waxing towards the full, appeared behind a thin pink cloud and I took this photo.

Well of all the hundreds of sunsets I’ve seen here over these last few years, this is the first time I’ve seen the Moon, veiled in pink.

It’s that sort of daily encounter with uniqueness and beauty which gets me wondering and delighting in just noticing what we call “this time and place”, or “this present moment”.

“L’émerveillement du quotidien”

Is there a better way to live?