Far Breton with Port Soaked Prunes
The weather here has been extraordinary since Christmas. First, the temperatures dropped seasonably low only to climb back up a few days later, bringing along heavy rain and storms. Which are exactly the kind of circumstances our village fears as with heavy rainfall the small stream trickling alongside the hill can quickly rise and turn into a turbulent flow.
Our house is entirely wooden and in stormy nights the sounds of creaking and cracking keep me from drifting into a deeper sleep. Sometimes I almost enjoy this concert of nature but there are different times I wonder if we’re going to lose the roof over our head.
Though as sudden as the wailing winds appeared, as sudden they have passed again, leaving behind the last few smidgens of snow on the now brown meadows. I remember – or at least that’s how I love to remember it – how the seasons changed periodically throughout the year when I was a child, now year after year I believe to feel them falling apart.
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