Summer is well advanced in this early July. Thunderstorms are frequent. Sunflowers don't know where to look anymore, the red mule where to point her ears and I where the damn path is. The mare doesn't understand why we get upset.
We have long become a tighly knit and efficient small herd. Every one enjoys the little pleasures of the road, one relies on the other when things get tough and the mares stand to attention when I go out with carrots from a grocery store.
The Lot-et-Garonne country is full of rugby fields and roads to Santiago de Compostela. It is now hard to avoid hikers and pilgrims highways, where signs for hostels and grocery stores replace trees. So we go get lost in the middle of sunflowers, plums and kiwis and, there, we make beautiful encounters, especially where rivers meet. After the beautiful Périgord cities and domains, we play in the small colourful villages and timeless shaky barns.
Then, we speed straight to the Mountains, following the Adour river and ancient Roman roads. There, to irrigate fields, they drown them. Everywhere corn, soon the beans of Tarbes.
While the sun starts to be too hard and the sky too blue, we glimpse the Pyrénées Mountains. They will stand proudly in the distance under the thunderstorm for a few more days, before we arrived at their feet, half eaten by horseflies and burnt by the Sun.
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