At seven o’clock this morning, I was standing in bare feet in the bedewed grass, listening to the village church clock strike the hour. It was just before dawn and the sky was hinting at the glory of the day to come.
As I listened, the bell struck a further pattern of three bells thrice, and then tolled irregularly and continually for a minute or so, presumably to call the first mass of the weekend.
The mist in the valley hints at a hot one today, and we’re off to Chenonceau this morning before it gets into the 30s, so we can simply laze this afternoon.
After a few minutes, the sun came up.
And all the dogs in the village began to bark.