I stand on the balcony in the dark and listen: A rooster crows. Faintly, church bells. Other than that, nothing. Nothing at all. It’s as dark as despair, as still as a trance. If the moon made sounds I’d hear that too. It’s waning, only a few days distant from full, and the trees cast moonshadow.
This is morning in Martizay. My breaths on the balcony are the first breaths of the day.
The homes here are summer homes for the most part, and most residents are away. Housing is low density: each parcel of land measures about an acre, peacefully nestled upon the River Claise. On the other side of the houses, the road is narrow, hardly wide enough for two cars to pass, but there are no cars; there may have been no cars for hours. There are no traffic lights, no streetlights, and at this time of day, few lights in windows. The few people who live here in winter—people are the noisiest critters of all—are still asleep.
I contrast this with our high-rise apartment in the heart of Portland. On sixteen floors, four hundred people occupy an area measuring 200 by 200 feet. There’s a balcony there too, and it was first thing I visited in the morning there as well. There, the noise of the city is incessant, although not from roosters or churchbells. There are always cars on Burnside and in the early morning, trucks with reverse warning horns unloading at the market across the street. People with voices in their heads shout incoherent replies. Sirens cry. Light from the city is unremitting; office buildings glow as if there is no night. In the city, moonshadow is as elusive as the perfect martini.
Each place has its own charm. Three months in Martizay will be as cathartic as three months in a meditative retreat, without the namastes and the yoga. I’m sure I’ll be eager for my return to city life, just as I was eager for life in the country. It’s my privilege to have both.
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Credit for photo at top: http://davidleahy.smugmug.com/
We moved from San Francisco into our house in Damascus on our fifth anniversary. That first night in our basement bedroom terrified me. It was dead silent and so dark I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. After 13 years in the City, most of them lived adjacent to the streetcar tracks, I felt as though I had been buried six feet under!
Enjoy your stay. I daresay that Portland will veritably scream at night upon your return!
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There are so many things we love about Portland. The (literal) screams at night, however, are not one of them. The remaining night sounds we embraced, just as we embrace the silence here.
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More! More! This sounds like a piece for the NYorker. Great writing, Dorothy (LL) Parker! (I am now reading one of her bios and her collected stories and poems.) Jeff Frank is there (did you know him?) but he never even replied to a shor, unsolicited submission from me. I loved the contrasts
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Shipwreck, those kind compliments are meant for the REAL author, the wonderful Tom. Did you think I’d marry a man who couldn’t write?
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Another vivid commentary. Sounds like Tom is ready for a tonsure and cowl. Another contrast to think about: Martizay and Paris, particularly over the last several days of horror. Have the waves of fright reached where you are?
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Cowl maybe (although in Portland we call them hoodies), but I’m far too vain about my hair for tonsure. Besides, ever since Spain my scalp is best not exposed in polite company.
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You have both been on our minds as the chaos whirls in Paris and out into the world. We are also wondering what has reached your small town. We are sorry that France is facing these horrors and tough decisions. Actually, the ripples are all over the world along with the difficult discussion and questions. All of civilization is involved. There were hundreds in Portland’s Courthouse square this evening. Would like to hear what is happening where you are.
The description of the ambiance differences was beautifully crafted. My first thought is that you can see the stars and the Milky Way. I do miss it in the well lit Willamette Valley. How wonderful to have had this opportunity come to your lives to really experience the heart of France.
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