Holding pattern

The settlement for our house is just one week away.

And so we wait ... biding our time til the 23rd rolls around.

It feels like our life is on hold.

We have taken an Airbnb here, in the verdant hills just outside Miramont de Guyenne.

It is a self-contained gite that looks out over paddocks and a forested rise near a hamlet called Roumagne.

Traffic noise from the busy D933 drifts up to the farm, to the terrace outside our front door.

Chooks saunter around the yard, searching, probing, dipping their beaks into the longish grass.

The female Weimar, Ellefille, is spread out under the lilac tree. Her taupe coloured hair forms a thin coat over her lean body. She is calm, but alert.

Cliona has picked a basketful of early cherries and is making a clafoutie.

She is using eggs from the farm, kindly given to us by our hostess, Sandra.

I came across a big clump of cos lettuce amongst the roses and we will have that in the salad.

Twilight is approaching slowly to the sound of crickets.  A group of small birds flies out of the cherry tree. A dove follows.

The occasional car drives past on the narrow bitumen lane.  Ellefille pricks up her ears.

She will return to her kennel to await the arrival of Sandra or her father to feed her.

She is such a good girl, so composed, I cannot resist giving her titbits.