I live in Montchauvet, a tiny (population 200) village about an hour west of Paris in the countryside. Our biggest claim to fame is our church – part of it is the original gothic building, dating from 1031. There is also a bridge from around the 12th century, a ruined tower from the tenth century, and vestiges of older buildings in the form of piles of mossy stones in the nearby forest.Nothing exciting happens here, unless the cows get out and block the road. The peace and quiet is actually quite nice. We have a restaurant in the village that is well-known, otherwise, except for a sprinkling of tourists, we’re pretty much alone.
I ran outside and took pictures of the snow falling. I took pictures of my pot of pansies with snow on them. I took pictures of my handprint in the snow, with August’s paw prints next to them (and his nose print, as he licked at the snow).
I took a walk while it snowed last night (it was so wet it was like walking in the rain, and it was cold and miserable out, so I didn’t walk for long.) But I had my snow! I had been missing it! I guess it must be from growing up in the tropics. I really think snow is something special. Of course, I don’t live in upstate NY, where snow is something to be suffered…We don’t get drifts, we get frosting.