Afternoon Delights

Along the Aude

It was impossible to stay indoors yesterday afternoon.  The temperature was perfect for a walk, and there was no wind. I strolled along the Aude, from the foot of my street up to beyond the dam and the swimming pool.  The walkway was busy but not overcrowded.  For once, I was able to shush the chatter that is constantly in my mind and just drink in and appreciate what my senses were experiencing.

No wind made for good reflections

There was no wind.  That in itself is rather remarkable.  Usually the wind is either blowing the water back upriver in the Aude or hurrying it along downstream.  Yesterday, parts of the river were so still as to look like a small lake. 

A prehistoric walking stick?

Aude trips over some rocks

As I walked uphill and into some shade, I smelled my childhood.  There is a certain tang, a certain brittleness of dry fallen deciduous leaves in autumn that just is not present in the Pacific Northwest.  Growing up, I would tromp all over our 13 acres, which, to a little girl, seemed like a vast forest.  My favorite time of year was in the fall when the colors gleamed, and there was this certain smell.  I am afraid I lack the skills to describe it, but those who have experienced it will know what I mean.

Hurry hurry downstream

There seemed to be a hint of burning leaves in that smell.  It's not an unpleasant smell--not like a forest fire.  Having been present for the Biscuit Fire in 2003 and even this summer in Brookings for the awful smoky conditions, I have grounds for comparison.  As I got closer to the Paicherou, I could see that there was indeed a small pile of burning leaves.  It brought back memories, let me tell you.

Burning leaves

Trees lit from within

And the light was incredible  A stand of trees on the south side of the river were lit from within.  Bt the most delightful sight was up high--the leaves there caught the light and the afternoon zephyrs; it looked exactly like they were made of fine gold--they glistened and glittered.  I am so sorry to say that I was unable to capture that shine with my camera.  I stood entranced, and my looking up with the camera made other people stop and look up, too.  Everyone knows that old practical joke, only in this case, there was something amazing to watch.

They looked like real gold

Lazy autumn reflections

I saw that most beautiful woman I have ever seen.  She was undoubtedly in her mid to late 70's and had taken good care of herself during her tour of the planet.  She could not have been over five feet tall--she barely came up to my shoulder when we passed on the sidewalk.  If her waist was even 20 inches around, I would be stunned, and she cold not have weighed more than 90 pounds.  She was wearing a black dress with a red belt, and sported a wonderful hat with one side brim upturned and a feather on the other.  Her presence far out-sized her physical stature.  I almost asked her if I could take her photo, and now I regret not doing so. 

Scarlet vines on the towers

As I returned to the starting point, I saw another woman communing with the pigeons and the ducks.  Another lady told me that the woman we were both observing could "parler oiseaux"  (Speak bird).  She certainly had a connection with them, but I suspect it has something to do with the food she brings every day for them.  

The woman who told me about Bird Woman and I walked on together.  Her name is Lucienne, and she is celebrating her first day of retirement TODAY.  She was a nurse, born and raised and lived her life here in Carcassonne.  We have agreed to walk together; maybe I will have made a new friend.

A reminder to look up

The woman who speaks bird

All of this sensory input took a little over an hour.  I could have sworn that it was longer, since I felt like I was drinking in so much of my surroundings.  And yet, it felt like just a few moments.  Time plays funny tricks on my mind when I am living fully in the moment.  Yesterday afternoon's stroll was just that--fully present and open to what the universe has to give.  It's an afternoon I won't soon forget.