Mme Biard

We had an impromptu street party the last time Lorna was here; drinking through the afternoon into a late August night when it got cool and dark and Terry put on my hooded black dressing gown and did impressions of Darth Vadar.  

That was six years ago.  

Lorna is as beautiful and poised as ever, but alone.  No Terry and without the dogs they plane crated from Toronto to Toulouse every summer. 

We drank Blanquette and talked then watched Mme Biard returning from the hen house with a pail of eggs.  

She plied us with raspberries from her garden.  Two beautiful widows in an unchanged setting. .