Bastille night on the banks of the Dronne river-

what drove the entire inhabitants of the Chateau de Vilars from their cozy confines,
through the country roads,
back to Brantome one evening, on the fourteenth?




the charming company, to be sure . . .



big fuzzy hugs? sure . . .


dinner along the river banks? mais oui!


but then darkness came,
and the flashes went off.
everyone got a little sultrier:


and the skies,
they exploded overhead:


magic,
forty feet overhead,
somewhere in the hinterlands of france.

(and look . . . i give the fireworks to you . . .)