Garage

A multi-occupied space, with no room for a car.  The trailer is full of recycling bags and bottles, Gab and Isaac bricolent on the trestle table which works as a place to prepare food (me) to cut little logs up to light a fire on which to cook Smore's (sic) (the children), a place to eat (us) because the children have taken over Pa's table outside to play cards.  
The garage is alive with the young, the trees are full of cats, something nasty is rotting in the woodpile, the fridge needs a deep clean.  Bernie carries mossy stones back from the river, licks them white and rallies them like sheep on the edge of the canal.  The heat keeps rising, the clouds bubble over the Pyrenees late afternoon with the promise of a break but the stars come back out at night.  
The river smells of plums and the current is fierce but wakes you out of a heat stupor and reminds you that you're alive.