Regular readers know I post a 99 word flash as part of Charli Mills weekly prompts and they continue the convoluted story of Mary North.
This is the prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) include a juxtaposition between the ordinary and natural worlds. It can be civilization and nature; an edifice and a nest or cave; a human act and a natural occurrence; acculturation and adaptation. Compare or contrast as the prompt leads you to write.
Currently Charli is selling her book idea in LA and I am in South of France writing this on my mobile.
Today we visited Mons 815 metres up in the Var forests.
Mons is a higgledy piggledy ancient town with streets designed for sinister spy stories not motorcars. It is attractive or would be without the Mistral. That irreverent and inconsiderate wind gusting from 0 to 90kph in the blink of grit takes no prisoners. It isn’t cold but it digs and niggles like an unwanted younger sibling interrupting play time.
It is a natural occurrence that feels artificial like it bears a grudge. In the film Chocolat it changes the town’s character. I get that. It’s a mood mover. It makes you check your bags, it makes you duck in case of flying objects. They even put rocks on the roofs to hold the tiles in place.
I don’t trust such a sneaky weather system.
And standing on the buttress that holds the town in place watching the locals scurry indoors and the church bell twist like it’s being tickled was to feel a part of something timeless, something that would have been invested with the supernatural not that many years ago
It’s a wind that speaks in groans and whispers, of pain long endured; it throws its anger at both the natural and ordinary world with a ferocity that knocks you breathless.
Un vent fou. N’est-ce pas?
And Mary? Here’s a link to the story so far.
‘I’m sorry Madam. We have to dig up every part. There may be more bodies. ‘
Mary shuddered. Not just the idea of more deaths but also the destruction of her parents pride and joy. The policeman was still talking. ‘When was the cherry planted?’
Mary hesitated. She knew exactly. On the fifth anniversary of her mother’s death. When they’d decided to use her ashes as the first foodstuff. She explained.
Even the policeman looked pained. ‘I’ll see if we can re-pot it for you.’
Mary couldn’t stop the tears. So much death yet losing this tree mattered most? Why?
In the meantime, au revoir from ici and see you back en Angleterre demain soir.