In the heart of the country

Back in the County, at the heart of it, on the river bend, we walk down to the boat house, watch the rowers power up to the jetty and back, up to the jetty and back, like the birds in some long lost song from a distant memory of another life when she had red soft lipstick lips and everything was fine.
I study a book of black and whites as maestro reclines on the day bed and the dogs pad about outside, sniffing the air, being dogs, and the reeds whisper sweet nothings to each other through the too clean glass.
The work is by Jean Loup Sieff. In the 60s, when everything was monochrome and oh so simple, he made a photo essay on French new wave cinema, including Jean-Luc Goddard’s classic A Bout De Souffle.

Up the incline, dogs in tow, sun still beating, and back to base, where we find the trailer on Youtube and start playing with the words. La tendresse, la peur, la petit Americaine, et Dieu crea la femme, le Diable dans la peau.

Will there be trouble? It’s all so evocative, nostalgic, warm, fuzzy and beautiful, like the day, like the light splashing on the divan, like the girl on the river with a pony tail and no name. It’s all so perfect, how can there be trouble?