SOMETHING OLD

There is something distinctly sobering about meeting… not in my imagination as I did the Pont du Gard in a history book when I was twelve-years-old… but in the reality of the Provencal countryside between the French cities of Nimes and Avignon… up close and personal something that is 2000 years old. It was definitely a bucket list occasion.  I climbed up the hill on one side of the aqueduct bridge and walked through the empty waterway to the other side, stooped slightly so I wouldn’t scrape my head on the ceiling. The aqueduct known as Pont du Gard is old but strong. I gained a renewed resolve about being old. I have decided it would be foolish to think of my next couple of decades as “my declining years.”  I will embrace old age and be glad for it.

After the visit to the Pont du Gard, I went over to the Benedictine monastery near St. Remy where Van Gogh was treated after he cut off his ear. I stood before the olive orchard and saw the very trees he painted.  I went to his room at the abbey and looked out the window toward the field that was planted in wheat when he stayed there.  Now there are rows of lavender and dried sunflowers and some other yellow flowers that must have inspired him. On my way back to my bus, I met a donkey tied with a long tether.  I stopped and petted it.  When I walked on it followed as far as its rope would allow… and nudged my elbow. The only thing I had with me that could be eaten was a cough drop. He watched as I unwrapped it. I offered and he accepted. 

The first picture today is an attempt to get the image I missed the day before yesterday before the rains came.  This morning I tried to recapture the moment when I first saw the red houseboat by making a panorama of the boats and trees along the other side of the Rhone River. You know how recapturing doesn’t usually get what was experienced earlier, but something perhaps what you get is just as satisfying.