Back in Provence

When we arrive back in Provence the house is sulking at its neglect. My husband coaxes the boiler back into full steam. We rush around checking for leaks and minor disasters. For the first twenty-four hours the huge cast iron radiators pump out heat which is instantly sucked into the walls and floors. We sit too close to the log fire and dressed in a mismatch of fleecy clothing we risk igniting the furniture and ourselves. We survive on thick soup and good red wine. By the second day we can venture away from the fire as the house now encloses us in its coziness. We cannot risk being smug, the house in an instant can shut down the electricity, disconnect the phone line or refuse to recognise internet for the computer.Her character is unpredictable and unreliable.But at night the silence is total and the lack of light complete, she becomes the most wonderful cocoon in which to sleep.
This morning an eerie glow wakes us to a thick layer of snow which has muffled the usual cock-crow and donkey bray from our neighbour’s property. We slither to the village for bread and here we sit. It is still snowing. Forecast for tomorrow is minus fourteen degrees so we watch the snow-laden power lines with apprehension. The candles are out ready and the logs piled up on the porch. Tomorrow should be clear sun, so ideal to take photos of the mountain.


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