Monday, November 08, 2010
We were ever conscious of Marius, No minotaur but rather a lumbering giant of a Limousin who sought out, like we did, the cool air under the village with his herd.
Pools were uncommon back in those days. Oh we could progress in a cloud of pungent blue two stroke exhaust to the ‘lac’ at Creon but this took time.
And so when a break was needed from the overheated game of ‘belote’ was needed ‘les caves’ drew us. Just across the field from our dormitory geometric openings in the soft golden stone led us down to another world.
Hollowed out many years before as a store for grapes and other farm produce, largely abandoned now in favour of more industrial solutions. The entrance held a few forgotten pieces of farm machinery which when passed led to vast cathedral spaces with roofs supported by towering oolithic limestone pillars. Huge pools of air held in calm cool mystery.
There were few landmarks within and beyond the sunlight and the sounds of the outside we would sometimes turn off the lamps we carried.
Sitting quiet in the dark the drips fell from roof above to unexpected amplification in small subterranean pools.
Always though, if you listened closely enough, you could hear the soft breathing and the gentle movement of the cattle. Sometimes close enough to catch their warm animal scents but usually quietly avoiding. Following somehow, without our convenience of light, where Marius led.