A RIDGE OF ROSY DAWN

3-4-10. George Herbert, Take the gentle path. Laura and I have flown to Atlanta and had lunch at TGIF. Across from me was a large photo of Elvis and a poster from the first Star Wars movie. Brandon's favorite celebrity and one of his best loved movies. So we have come to the right place.

Then we waited at the Paris gate where the French language is flowing through the area.

We are in the sky rushing forward. Its hard to believe this plane can hold all of us up. Every seat is occupied. I've made this journey before but never with a companion. Laura has a lot of traveling memories. She used to be an airline stewardess and has traveled extensively on her own as well.

3-5-10 We arrived under a Paris moon. The lights blinked their welcome from far away. At the Charles de Gaulle terminal we were stamped and approved. Now we are near our gate F24 bound for Toulouse. But first a cup of coffee and a bit of juice to fortify us for the next part of this journey. Laura in black has disappeared into the cosmopolitan crowd as they are nearly all dressed in black, too.

Once again we are high above French soil. Paris from above has much water and is already greening. The blue mist from this height is populated with hundreds of fleecy sheep and white buffalo. Agriculture is everywhere below us. A green patch quilt of fields. Long roads tie the land to commerce. Our flight attendant is an attractive young man of grace and charm. Suddenly the sky is rough and the captain assures us that the turbulence will be brief. I see the snow capped Pyrennes shining bright white to the East.

Joel met us at Toulouse and whisked us down many roads to Bordenouve where we were met by three friendly dogs, Alex and Mathilda. After a good lunch I took a nap.

Then we went out to pick dandelion greens. We took a basket to Lillian and had tea. As I sat there I remembered a previous visit. Her late husband Pierre had given me a painting and read me a poem in French. It was one he had painted and is hung in the Redd Shedd at Deer River.

I feel like I am in a dream but Angeline said she never dreams so it must be real. We visited the St Pierre cemetery. Then home for a good supper. To bed early. So tired I can hardly think. I will sleep like a dead woman.

3-6-10. Up before the sun. Saw village lights to the east. I crept downstairs and sat in the rocker with the quiet house around me like a familiar quilt. Here is the doorway where the cattle used to enter when the house was a barn. I saw a fleet footed rabbit scurry across the road like small spirit, a shadow in the grass. The road looked white under the bright moon. Then Angeline's large rose boulder took shape and the house in the field was lit up. Two cars passed on the hill beyond the field. One like the swift hare and the other like a wandering child.

I climbed back up to the loft and watched the day pick out the details of the charming little barn east of the house. The dark hills are bathed in blue haze and above a ridge of rosy dawn. Angeline is up now so I go down and we enjoy coffee, toast and conversation. When I was at the Montessori school at Indian River, FL a boy told me, Grandmothers are smarter than grown ups. What a wise child! But Mathilda thinks I am unable to talk because she speaks French and I have no French so I am rather quiet. I told her I talk a lot but say little. Now I talk to her in English with a bit of Spanish and Ojibwe tossed in for confusion. She is a tolerant lass and listens to my nonsense with great interest.