A Little Walk

Le Pont Vieux

We are enjoying spectacular weather.  Yesterday the skies were full of the puffy cumulus clouds whose shapes give rise to stories of alligators, princess' carriages, steam shovels, and winged horses that live in the still-a-child part of our psyche.  Isn't it wonderful to have the time to simply sit back and enjoy, and imagine...?  I am a lucky girl, indeed.

Notre Dame de la Sante and her olive tree

 

I had been saving the re-acquaintance with my beloved Aude for just such a day. My camera and I set out for a walk.  I am chagrined to say that I didn't get far, nor did I walk very fast.  In learning to see, I am now noticing much more than ever before.  Some may think I should develop a little more discernment, but for now, everything interests me.  

Peeking inside the front door

So, let me take you on the walk (and I use that term in the loosest possible sense) I enjoyed yesterday.

A closer look at the reflection

I started at the foot of the street, at the lovely little chapel, Notre-Dame de la Sante.  It sits right at the end of the pedestrian bridge, le Pont Vieux, that visitors to the Cite are in a hurry to cross. She's not flashy and there's not much about her that beckons.  It's kind of a square little building that looks as if someone either forgot to add a tower, or sawed it off.   I imagine this little chapel gets ignored--a lot.  

But yesterday, the light coming through the very plain stained glass was being painted all over the opposite interior wall.  The reflection reminded me of Impressionist paintings, only more vivid.  I had to go in and visit with it.  

Blue votives and thank you plaques

While in there, I noticed that the votives were blue, instead of the red and clear ones that I am used to in other churches.  Maybe blue is Mary's color?  The wall contains the candles lit in hope, and is tiled with the Mercis of thankful petitioners.  It is a place of quiet contemplation, of simplicity.  I like to come here and sing, just to myself, or to the Universe, when nobody is around.

The tree is l laden with fruit

Outside is the olive tree I remember, and it is loaded with fruit.  Having grown up in the Mid-Atlantic,  olive trees are exotic: ancient and biblical.  I love their silvery-green slender blade leaves.  This tree seems like a big one, and I have no way of knowing that or determining how old it is.  Timeless.

The mayor of Carcassonne mounted a campaign this spring to make sure the city is filled with flowers.  There are planter boxes everywhere I look.  He has indeed turned it into a "city of flowers" and well cared for ones at that.  I love that the city fathers, even when they disagree, manage to put Carcassonne first, as if they are proud of her, and want her to be beautiful for her guests.

I lingered on the upriver side of the Pont Vieux, the Old Bridge.  Those with an engineering mindset will be drawn to the fact that its arches are not all the same  span-width.  Apparently they should be?  I am drawn to it for all of the footfalls it has absorbed.  Who were these people?  What stories are contained in its stones?  It was withstood raging waters--I have seen the Aude when she is on the verge of losing her temper.  This old bridge (nearly 700 years old) has withstood some fierce battering. Whoever built this did not know the term "planned obsolescence."

Does he see me?

And when I got to the banks of the Aude, my heart gave a little thunk.  Yes, the ever present La Cite watches over the comings and goings, but it is not important for me to go up there.  Not yet.  It will be there, minus a few hundred tourists, in the uncountable days to come.  For now, I am content to poke among the grasses and plants, and places and people of the Bastide.  

The Aude through the foliage