Like birds it is time to go to leave this tranquil sleepy village Blajan. The weathered crumbling buildings are everywhere their past glory reflecting better times long ago, I stand and watch closed shops and small bars they dot the landscape village after village. Some even look abandon rows of homes empty shutters closed families gone, never to return I think, but what do I know.
Church bells ringing I can see slate steeples on every hill-top Church after Church in every direction, the popular trees bare, the seasons are changing the bright vivid greens that covered the small winding roads hiding those huge red tiled barns, those warm long summer days have grown short. I could not help thinking about those poor African cows we have seen running through thorny bare rocky ground the dust bellowing from their hove’s skin and bone trying to eat 4’’ prickly thorns, a far cry from these huge French cows which eat that lush French green grass the constant smell of organic decay nourishing the earth, those French cows lick their lips their long black tongues constantly rotating around their mouths munching and munching day and night…..they are in heaven I thought they are really in heaven….those poor African cows they would never believe this.
