Linger on paths, on the hillside, in the meadows. Soak in all the sunlight, turn not a ray away.
It's the day we've longed for since the Winter Solstice. The longest day.
We planned to spend ours elsewhere. In some unknown city, somewhere down there. Soaking up the rhythms of the Fête de la musique long into the night.
But instead, we shall spend it here in the valley, with the swollen Bastan still roaring by and the streets still covered in mud.
Trying to make sense of it all. The devastation but also the compassion of strangers. The strength and the solidarity of the community. The power of Mother Nature in reclaiming what is hers.
There will be many hours in this longest day. Sometimes, I imagine them to pass quickly, like water in a rushing stream. But I've had enough of rushing water for the time being.
On this Longest Day, I want to savour every single one of these sunlit hours as they lead up to those final golden ones, the hours we have reclaimed from the night.
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