A wet Sunday. The streets in our little village are empty. Like me everyone is probably curled up in front of the fire. No, not everyone. At the top of our house I hear the Australian anthem playing in the Rugby World Cup on a TV.
Our house, like most of the other houses in Menerbes, is right on the street. When I’m in the lounge room I can hear anyone walk by. The bottom panes of our front windows are covered in opaque adhesive paper for privacy. There are also shutters we can close on the inside.
I went for a walk around the streets just now. All the windows and doors are snugly shuttered. I’m intensely aware that people are within arms reach just on the other side.
Old map makers used to draw griffins and dragons at the sides of their charts to denote the unexplored territory, the feared unknown. I don’t suspect those mythical creatures of lurking behind the closed windows and door I pass but there is something exciting and mysterious about not knowing what I’d find if I peeked through the door or flicked back a curtain. Anything is a possibility.
Writing is like that.
The Writers' Life 
You look so relaxed and fit perfectly into the scene. The log fire feels warm I can almost smell the wood. Strange how the old houses are directly on the street I wonder how it all evolved did the houses come first and then a path came into being as people trotted from one home to another? I just love that very weather worn door was it an actual front door or just an old gate.
The old door was at the side of the house and may have been into the basement. I loved that it was locked with a chain as if that would be a physical deterrent.
Good question about the size of the streets, Sue. Were the houses built on either side of the walking path so they only had to be wide enough for pedestrians and a cart? That’s how people go around. Someone else might know?
All those amazing door interesting doors and shuttered windows – grist for your writing mill and with a little touch of present reality drifting down from upstairs.
I love the doors and window in the villages! In the markets you can buy all kinds of beautiful lace curtains. A very loud and excited present reality boomed down the stairs at full time!
What a fabulous way to spend a rainy day – a walk and then toasting your toes in front of the fire. Those ancient portals could relate a story or two, I bet. And I bet Ross enjoyed the Rugby – especially the last few moments.
I love rainy days – occasionally. We both enjoyed this one for different reasons and in different way.
So lovely to see you living your dream, dear friend. Enjoy!
Thank you, dear friend. It’s wonderful to share it with you.
You’re looking well, Karen – and why wouldn’t you… such a beautiful peaceful holiday! I love the mystery of the doors and imagining what might be behind them, particularly the last photo. I think I’ll use it as a photo prompt for a story. I’ll let you know what’s on the other side once I’ve been there!
Maree, I’m fascinated by the door and windows, too. I can’t wait for you to tell me what you find behind the weathered door! Of all the doors, that one made me uncomfortable.
Oooh I love the photos and the inspiring stories they bring. Gorgeous window, pretty window, neat door, then bam! One of these things is not like the other… And that’s where the story lies.
I loved that old door. We passed it often. The chain was all for show and I wondered why they bothered. It just made it more tempting to go in.
Wonderful photographs, Karen!
Thanks, Debbie. Provence is a photographer’s dream.