I must admit, I have a thing for all the old stone structures I see here in France. I love every single one of them. I love them when they stand nearly invisible, alone in the woods…covered in brambles, looking forgotten. I love them when they sit with old cars and farm equipment in them. I love them with roofs slowly caving in and roof tiles slipping downwards in slow motion. I love them lovingly restored and once again lived in. I love seeing their dates sometimes, carved into the front door lentils. Some stand with only 3 walls intact, but one wall may have a beautifully carved granite window frame, and be of Roman era. I love the oldest ones: the round shepherd’s huts that are built igloo style, and still stand against the intrusion of rain. I love the various styles of pigeoneirres that served as dovecotes for doves the way chicken coops serve chickens, only these are royally elegant. And two stories high, with pointed roofs.
I will never, ever tire of seeing them. Each one has it’s own way of pulling a quick breath or a gushing response from me. I have even kissed one or two, on their thick green mossy cheeks. Thank you to whoever built these old stone buildings that I love so much…