Dandelion 31

 

A classic Citroen Ami Mk6, is parked before the Landeda Mairie (Town Hall). The practical estate version, naturally. A Tricolore wafts imperiously overhead. The scene could be from a poster, celebrating the Breton rural idyll.

A fifteen minute walk, along a sunken lane, reminiscent of those of England's West Country, brings me to the village. In search of a baguette de tradition Francaise (known as 'une tradition'). Which, by law, must be made on the premises from French flour, salt, water, yeast or sourdough, only.

A lime washed church acts as a traffic island, for what traffic there is in Landeda, with the Mairie and shops set around it. Cars giving way to milling pedestrians. For there is no formal pavement.

I return to Stargazer, the bread still warm in my basket. The tide is out, revealing seaweed draped rocks. On which a grey heron stands. Fully a metre high. Head cocked quizzically. Slender as a rapier. The light playing, over the delicate white tracery, which adorns the predator’s water-grey plumage.