Yesterday, as we came over the gentle rise near where the memorial to the Polish Grenadere's who lie in the soil after dying on a summer's night in 1940 during a bayonet charge to liberate Lorraine lie under the skeletons of two great oak trees, about a kilometre from home, the one who wasn't driving was given to remark that she rather liked the way we had come.
It made she went on to say, a nice change. The interesting thing about that was that it was the route we usually take, transformed to something else in just seven days.
A week ago we would have been in the midst of a sea of yellow rape flower, the village and the port itself clearly visible across the Canal du Marne au Rhin. In just seven days, the village was lost behind the trees lining the canal, the yellow fields now an almost drab green in comparison to their former vivacity. The steeple on the church once again stands as the only visible marker to the town.
Even the memorial to the Polish Grenadere's who lie in the soil after dying on a summer's night in 1940 during a bayonet charge to liberate Lorraine seemed lost in the deepest shade somewhere under the two oak trees that had taken it upon themselves to burst into leaf while we were gone.
It seems that in the blink of an eye, spring is over and everything is getting on with whatever business it may need to get on with until the next winter.
Back on the boat, the electrical system had also been transformed. There is more to do of course, but it's looking as though it may just give us the reliability we have been seeking.
Roll on Summer!
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Max was 6C here today ... winter is rolling in fast. But the cold has made the leaves colour up.
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