We walked fairly briskly through Beaulon this morning, conscious that we’d made an appointment at the lock at ten, and under clear blue skies wishing we hadn’t. We were sure we would have been forgiven if we had changed our minds about leaving, but not sure enough to actually do so at the last moment.
So reluctantly although we still can’t say why, we moved on a total of two and a half kilometres to a mooring at Garnat-sur-Engièvre which as it turns out was even nicer than the one from which we had so reluctantly departed. We had made the decision to move to allow us easier cycling access to the village of Bourbon-Lacy, but when we arrived we were overcome by the urge to undertake a pre-lunch wander through the fields of buttercups and into Garnat which of course was entirely Monday-lunchtime deserted.
This is where the rest of our day simply went awry. Reluctant though we had been to move to here in the first place, perhaps because of the impossible silence we were enjoying, perhaps because of the impossibly perfect weather, we found ourselves overwhelmed by an even greater reluctance to go anywhere else this afternoon.
Instead we thought, we’d sit here for a bit and think.
But we didn’t.
We just sat.