Saturday, April 25, 2009
slay me with beauty
Does it wear off? This being constantly blown away by aesthetics, by a sense of place, by history and thoughtful architecture? Will I ever find it ordinary? Do the people who live in Europe, were born here, even see it.
I'm finding the beauty of this place so incredibly distracting, it's almost disturbing. I find myself saying such inane things, like, "I can't get over how beautiful that roofline is," and "I love the way the old stone houses look."
Honestly, my words, my compliments, my appreciation of the beauty of this place sound so dumb coming out of my mouth.
But I do love the markets. I love the parks. I love the houses, the way the shutters are all painted a different color, sage green, forest green, brick red, cornflower blue, gray....
I love the way the farmyards are in the middle of town, the way I'm drawn down every alleyway, ever narrow passage, ever winding street like a woman possessed.
And the endless fields of vibrant yellow oilseed rape, the stuff that is making my nose tickle and my eyes itch. It's killing me.
Esther sees it too. "Look at that dazzling yellow field," she said the other day. Dazzling indeed.
Coming to France in the spring, just in time to see entire hillsides grow gauzy and soft with apple and cherry blossoms, and smell the lilac and wysteria is a trap. I am suffering from delusions of perfection. Wondering why the entire world doesn't just come here and look and find their problems solved.
Of course I'm choosing to ignore the fact that something like 70 percent of France's energy comes from nuclear power. So far I haven't spotted a reactor, but I know they're out there. Somewhere.
Please excuse me if I say nothing of substance here, I'm still reeling, in the early throes of falling in love. I'm blinded by the feeling. Stupid with love. This kind of passion can't last. I'll come around soon. Won't I?
For proof that it's not all lilacs and apple blossoms, click here.