|
"The
fields around the house were inhabited every day by figures moving
slowly and methodically across the landscapes
weeding their vineyards, treating the cherry trees, hoeing the sandy
earth. Nothing was hurried. Work stopped at noon for lunch in the
shade of a tree, and the only sounds for two hours were snatches
of distant conversation that carried hundreds of yards on the still
air."
-Peter
Mayle, A year in Provence |
