A picnic by the lake

The sun on the lake in Le Boulot sparkled with thousands of stars in the middle of the day. Barbara and I were there with P&P, an English/Rhodesian couple, their incredibly beautiful inside and out teenage daughter and her poised and culturally aware friend. Despite one level of maturity they giggled about what to name the gila lizard belly button pin the daughter wore. Gerald was the final decision. In between plans for an art museum there was a discussion on what to wear on their dates with French local boys that night. The dichotomy reminded me of my daughter’s musical taste at their age. I would pass her room and hear first Duran-Duran, then Cats then Bach.

We sat under a tree. Barbara was in a chair because her bad back, although better, made it wise that she not spread out on the grass.

The lake is a quarter of a mile across and triple that in width. In the distance three layers of mountains went in color from dark blue, lighter blue and grey.

When I lay down and looked up through the green leaves the sky was almost royal blue. Everything was iridescent.

Our picnic was baguettes, tomatoes that tasted like those of my childhood, fresh goat cheese and melon so sweet it was almost caramel.

The day ended with tea on P&P’s rooftop terrace. They look out on the mountains, thick with pine trees, folded into ridges. Before the mountains is a river. Pine trees boughs that graze the top of the tile roof are cone ladened. The air smelled fresh and sweet.

There was no grand climax to the day, no drum rolls, no spectacular revelations – just a tremendous feeling of peace from using my senses and being with good people.