EXCERPT FROM SARA’S JOURNALNovember 27, 1998
Ondres
Cote d’Argent
A cool grey ceiling hovers. The wind has picked up but the temperature
stays put. We step from the gates of Brimborion and turn left instead of right and
into a maze of trees. Following the bike path takes us across the main road to Ondres
Plage and into deeper woods. The trail is sandy. The trees stand in the organized design
of their planters. They line up in rows and share the forest with little underbrush.
Lichen clings and ivy creeps up the black, wet bark.
Rich’s hand is a warm, smooth vessel. He squeezes my fingertips as
we kick along the grassy sand trail until we meet the next fork. Rich consults the compass
as I stride forward towards the sound of the grumbling surf. It getting louder and our
beach walk wish is granted when our path empties us at the Ondres Plage.
The wind animates our hair and coats. Rich surveys the empty dunes and
I read his kite-flying mind. Swells break in threes. The beach is empty and littered with
washed-ashore. Nets entangle plastic floats and some garbagy items. The air blows into my
nostrils, carrying with it the perfume of the neighboring Centre d’Equestrian.
We turn back, careful not to retrace our steps and find another meandering bicycle path.
