To Les Jardins de Marqueyssac and Beynac et Cazenac in the Dordogne River.
Yesterday afternoon we decided on a short trip to some of the exquisite chateau villages along The Dordogne. Traveling the small roads via the heights of Rocamadour through the scrub oak forest scribbled with plots of very green pasture and bordered with crumbled stone fences. Belcastal a Fairytale fortress of a home clings to a jagged cliff poised at a perfect twist of sparkling Dordogne so as to come across it ones breath is held.
We linger in a view spot photograph each angle with light just so, and edges of green meadows, roof tops and glistening river. I see a painting taking form. Quietly I ask myself what is it that calls to be painted. What strikes the cord of creativity of soul lust to express to sing with the experience. There is a heightening of energy that niggles and bubbles and yearns to be echoed to be repeated through the filters of ones own perception.