We are traveling a long time. Too. We feel the weariness of the days spent in the rain and the muscles are beginning to rebel against even the most simple commands. The mornings are moist and accompanied Breton winds of Elisha. Accustomed to twenty more honest, I always forget to put a sweater more often to the layer of clothes already. It is not a friendly nature but I can not hate her. E 'in these lands, on the edge of the world where I want to stay. We continue to be slowed down a little burden that we carry with us but it is a burden which we can not leave so easily. Now she is curled up in the van bench breathing regularly. I do not know when we reach our goal but we did not hurry.
Lake Chatelgiron is quiet, no rippling waters, the ducks at the first light of dawn take off popping up from behind huge aquatic plants. There is an eerie silence. There is more deafening noise of silence in his ear used to the lanes of the city. The cliffs on a storm tide are gray and jagged, as if an angry god had calmed down, striking with a hammer the whole cliff. Around us narrow paths between wild heather and holly. No cry of gulls that dawn had not yet taken off, no noise except our human trampling on the ground, only the sound of the surf, the sea on approach that increases its range. The sky's veins alabaster. The sun is hidden. In the distance you can see the island of Ouissant timid, unattainable with the sea in these conditions. A sail is a rash and sore kisses water. Not far away, in a small Breton village is a small pond surrounded by birch trees. Although it is clearly visible from the road is almost always deserted. It 's a rare day of sunshine and it's nice to let heat from the sun after the rain all day. The land is dry, the lake to lick a myriad of flowers and aquatic plants with bright colors - purple predominates over all. Every time I look at shows so nice to come home with so many projects in my head, like many good intentions to care more about the garden and grow a small vegetable garden. Last year I was able to have a small production of tomatoes and lettuce cutting that fed the whole family all summer. I think I saw go for the first time, a blue dragonfly. Already imagine the return load of melancholy and dissatisfaction for not having lived more intensely in the days of late summer places so magical.
http://www.oceane-alimentaire.com/ the economic survival of the Breton fishermen against the massive influx of cheap imported fish.
Lake Chatelgiron is quiet, no rippling waters, the ducks at the first light of dawn take off popping up from behind huge aquatic plants. There is an eerie silence. There is more deafening noise of silence in his ear used to the lanes of the city. The cliffs on a storm tide are gray and jagged, as if an angry god had calmed down, striking with a hammer the whole cliff. Around us narrow paths between wild heather and holly. No cry of gulls that dawn had not yet taken off, no noise except our human trampling on the ground, only the sound of the surf, the sea on approach that increases its range. The sky's veins alabaster. The sun is hidden. In the distance you can see the island of Ouissant timid, unattainable with the sea in these conditions. A sail is a rash and sore kisses water. Not far away, in a small Breton village is a small pond surrounded by birch trees. Although it is clearly visible from the road is almost always deserted. It 's a rare day of sunshine and it's nice to let heat from the sun after the rain all day. The land is dry, the lake to lick a myriad of flowers and aquatic plants with bright colors - purple predominates over all. Every time I look at shows so nice to come home with so many projects in my head, like many good intentions to care more about the garden and grow a small vegetable garden. Last year I was able to have a small production of tomatoes and lettuce cutting that fed the whole family all summer. I think I saw go for the first time, a blue dragonfly. Already imagine the return load of melancholy and dissatisfaction for not having lived more intensely in the days of late summer places so magical.
http://www.oceane-alimentaire.com/ the economic survival of the Breton fishermen against the massive influx of cheap imported fish.
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