beautiful people

I can hear the Orchestre Pierre Lebrun  from the mill.  I know their act well and they are pretty good at it. 
They always started at the church (ecclesiastical stuff), then  down to the war memorial  to play the chant des partisans and on to the salle de fete where tiny old couples danced beautifully to the accordions.

Mary, mother of Jesus, kept jabbing me in the ribs to remind me that it's the 15th of August, which when it falls on a sunday is easy to forget.

In days gone by Dédé grilled meat and everyone brought salads and ate along trestle tables under his seven oaks, which one year became 6, but that kept them warm two winters later.

The storms always broke in the early evening as we walked home via Plancoulon, and that was the summer broken too.

Sylvain played Cuban music as he drove us to Gaudiès with the canoes in tow.  He was so very gypsy that he couldn't have been but so very much was.  

We stopped at the Rock where the sound system was being set up for Assumption.  I doubt anyone had been to church, but they were all milling around in the square in front of it waiting for the buvette to open.

Mary left me in peace to drift a while.  We beached a couple of times in the rapids but wriggled ourselves back into the current.

It's gone midnight and Pierre Lebrun's musicians have shifted from the forties into the nineties.  I know their skit and can hear the crowd cooperation.  The lead singer is being charismatic and the pianist's eyes are roving.

It's getting late, has started to rain and I'll get to bed before they start rapping and the storms break.