Yesterday

Yesterday......
PART ONE
oh George, oh Paul, oh John, oh Ringo, oh The Beatles, oh how I used to weep between screams and smiles of joy, of sentiment, of being on the edge of a cliff of musical, magical, majestical mystery.
PART TWO
Yesterday ....... was a stormy day... in more ways than one.

Yesterday, I sat on a bench under the hands of horse chestnut trees, whilst rain penetrating through leaves dropped drips, one by one, onto my blue-grey rain mac and in my hair, as I sat and studied  lightning across a river valley, watching rain fall against the backdrop of trees. Birds stopped song and flight as rain fell and when the clouds abated, the feathered friends struck up their tunes and were seen to fly from place to place, for it was not yet 9 o'clock in the evening.

Yesterday, I sat under the leaves of conker trees and smelled the damp bark. I leaned against the tree and wished to hug the strength out of it.  I witnessed conkers lying on the ground from last Autumn.  I looked up into the canopy of green and felt protected.  My wistful melancholy whimpered at my soul like a French nightingale with all the joys and happinesses of Spring and Summer but solitariness seethed towards a wonderment about people and existence.

Yesterday, I sat wishing I had my camera, purse and tissues, for I had nothing except my self and what I wore. Then CLOCK. I see before me a Toyota MR2 sports car with a GB number plate... ah ha .. English people are here.  Ah ha, and what is this, as a Porsche Boxster S parks alongside it. "Bonsoir" le monsieur dit a moi. "Bon soir Monsieur" je dit.  "Hello".  He discusses the weather and who they are visiting and asks me something where I reveal a twist in the day but reveal nothing more than the wistfulness of a stormy day.  I ask if he has seen me before, for he is quite friendly! He offers to bring a glass of wine as he clutches his two bottles of red to the place he is going to.  Of course he never arrives. Why would anyone in a thunder storm want to return to a wet bench under trees with two glasses of red in his hand when he is the age of my son?
But oh, I dreamed that he would..for a person to talk to and not to talk about me... oh no... for as I have been told I am as mad as a biscuit and I am told that I dream fancifully.
There I am in a film set ... rather as Bathsheba in the storm. I see Troy with Fanny as the rainstorm flooded the earth and spoiled the crops and yet made characters strong to allow love to win through tragedy.    Oh such a fanciful imagination in search of company and more than that... normality.

PART THREE
Wishing to maintain privacy, just let me say that the following day I was feeling so good that after almost 3 hours of mowing grass, I walked far into countryside at a pace, descending and climbing a circuit of stone steps, lanes, streets and pavements about the village and its environs.  I courageously knocked on a door to see if I could discover this person to explain that I do not normally sit in rain and thunder storms. These English people were so kind and not at all phased...so French really... we showed interest, discussing all manner of things French and English, their lives and mine. They fed me a most amazing 3 course meal followed by coffee.  I hope I can return the conviviality.

PART FOUR

Yesterday... I was told by an English person that I look French...oh oh oh... MY MY MY! J’ai arrivé.
I do actually have ancestors who are from Nîmes et de Nantes. How good do I feel!!!!!!!!

Life is looking up!!!!!!!