After the mists of the Pyrénées Mountains, we find the Sun in the plain along the Canal du Midi. The horizon is desperatly flat and the grass burnt. After a few days, we reach the Black Mountains, then the Causses and Cévennes, rounded hills that lived the beginnings of time. There are loneliness, pines and rocks in this mountains. There is also the village of Arfons and its feast. There are above all the wind and its turbines. Autumn comes along too, discreetly.
It is the end of the journey. No more goal, no more mountains in sight. Every day are now made of silence, the mares and me, we understand each other this way. The coldness of night omens the blakcness of winter and an alarm won't leave me. We are fleeing autumn, we are fleeing the moment to go back. You may walk, but time, always, will catch you.
But, it will only have taken a day of fog and Causses. A bright period on a rocky path, the horizon opening up, this rounded hills of burnt grass beyond counting. This is it, I arrived. It's the end of the journey and I arrived. Thousands of kilometers to escape from time.
In a few days, we will reach La Canourgue and wait for the truck that will take us back to the Chevreuse Valley.
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