Vestiges

The last bits and pieces of a life well lived; packed into boxes, distributed, rehoused, disposed of.

I felt a good amount of sympathy for the two brothers up against the wall of their parent's lives, dismantling it, stone by stone.

I had to take a last look at the wall connecting the presbytère to the church: the vaulted doorway which would have given the priest direct access from home to work. the ordinary and the sacred.

We supplied brawn (?) and brains (?) and filled the trailer several times, drove across the Razes hills to where Gabs has bought a little house which will house a fraction of the contents of the Presbytère and ate sandwiches and drunk beer on the allotment wall. 

I picked wild flowers from the cemetery, put them in an old vase that was being thrown out and placed them on the little shrine the old poet lady had made for Patrick.

I headed home with a car full of books and two leather poufs from Fez.