When we told Dave and Ria where we intended to stay this evening, they nodded quietly and backed slowly away, I could have sworn they were deliberately avoiding eye contact even. We were at the shops when they quietly motored out of town, bent on finding somewhere green and lovely and no doubt boringly beautiful in the countryside, leaving us to wait for the arrival of our guests.
To be fair, we knew that by the time Jenny and Colin arrived from Brugge, our options for finding a mooring would be limited, and had we been more sensible perhaps we could have chosen to stay another night in Rethel. But that little switch in our heads flicked itself on, and staying put was not an option.
So while Dave and Ria spend their night moored in the shadow of the Baroque Cathedral in Asfeld, no doubt lulled to sleep by the rhythm of its chiming bells, we are in the shadow of a cathedral of a different kind, a cathedral of agriculture, whose vast spires send music into the air, not created by bells, but by its massive dust extraction system, humming a tune into the night.
We can almost smell the serenity.
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