To the river La Varenne running over the rock dam at the bottom of my garden
To the tower of the 11th-century church, Notre Dame sur L’Eau, I see from the window of my third-floor study
To the cloud-filtered light of Normandy that inspired Impressionists
To the aroma inside the boulangerie
To the taste of Camembert at room temperature 
To the fragrance of Marius Fabre (Savonnier depuis 1900) savon à l’huile d’olive
To the scent of Mariage Frères Marco Polo thé noir
To the porcelain cup with red flowers that holds the fruit-infused black tea
To the trauma stones—wartime rubble—from which my house was built
To the barn—17th century—that survived the Allied bombing that destroyed the main house to which the barn was called une dépendance (outbuilding)
To the wisteria ravishing the side of the barn
To the wild blackberry bushes on the bank of La Varenne
To the wild strawberries
To the hazelnuts scattered in the grass below my hazelnut tree
To the big-headed jackdaws
To the bird with spotted wings
To the owls I hear but never see
To the red squirrel and the albino squirrel
To the ginger cat mousing in tall grass
To the heavy, rusted bucket chain of the ancient well
To the bark of the bulldog across the street
To the summer sun that, obscured by clouds on rainy days, comes out on still-bright nights to raise steam from wet pavement and illuminate tree-leaf raindrops before darkness finally falls
To the print of Gustave Caillebotte’s “Paris Street; Rainy Day” in the hallway
To the print of Gustave Caillebotte’s “The Floor Scrapers” in the bedroom
To my beloved’s kiss
To my beloved’s eyes, his hands
To the precise shade of smoky green wallpaint, Pitcholine, on my first-floor landing
To the vintage chandelier hanging there, restored by my own hands, when it catches the sunlight and kaleidoscopes the full spectrum on the ceiling for a few seconds each morning (Don’t blink. You’ll miss it)
To this place in France where I live and where my life will end,
I implore you,
Please do not distract me with your beauty.
~
Jane Armstrong is a longtime friend of and editor for NWW. Some time ago she quit this brutal country for the countryside in France, where she is now a fixture.