The old railtrack, afternoon

Molly starts up a grey wagtail, which flutters ahead of us like a piece of whistling paper caught on the breeze.

A patch of tiny deep violet pansies gone wild.

Watermill, Guette-es-Lievres, afternoon

Beechwoods in spring are incomparable, the flakes of luminous green hang from floor to ceiling as if in suspended animation, bluebells and stitchwort flow below, with an occasional red campion.

Down the road, evening.

Despite the drought, everything - grass, leaves, sunlight, birdsong, the smells of blossom, of leaf wax and of bonfire smoke, all seem to be filled to bursting with an intense juice.

Up the road, morning.

One thing I like about the road to La Tantouille is nobody lives there.  With the skylarks, yellowhammers, chaffinches and stonechats, and occasionally some cows, we have it to ourselves.

Old railtrack, Gare de Moncontour, morning.

It's sunny at home, but we descend into mist, which lies in strata at the level of the treetops, so I could climb up and reach my hand into it.

Approach to Bogard, afternoon.

Some people, a couple of boys fishing, a couple of girls doing nothing, sit around the chateau's fishing pond, and two plastic boats are drawn up at the water's edge.

Down the road, early evening

Though the evening air is cooling, Ludovic, his wife, baby and border collie are still outside on the lawn with a blanket, enjoying surely the warmest day of the year.

Up the road, afternoon (Wednesday)

The black umbrella put up when the German shepherd runs out at us works well, both dogs are confused and discouraged from aggression, and we are able to move off.