Pellegrue : Crane hill

Earthy greens mellow,
and mossy smells rise,
carried on warm winds,
that caress my skin,
indian summer blessing,
before bite of winter,
follows migrating Crane.

A legend

A hamlet sleeps under an obscure night sky. The moon plays hide and seek through sombre clouds. Forest and field lay in shadow, while houses slumber, as those within. A shaft of moonbeam catches movement, reflects on metal. Something, or someone creeps with ominous stealth. Suddenly an alarmed gutteral sound comes out of the silence, then another, and another, until a multitude of tumultuous bird cries ring. And air stirs as a hurricane, when wings take flight. A window illuminates , a door opens, a second, a third. Men run out wielding weapons of poor folk, to aspy thiefs turning their heels in fright, back into darkened forest. Laughing, yet thankful, folk return to their beds. “Oyer! Oyer!” (hear ye), a legend is born, a hamlet renamed ‘Pellegrue’.

Carved and placed by Jean-Michel Lacroix, on a chimney breast.
Carved and placed by Jean-Michel Lacroix, on a chimney breast.

Pellegrue or Pelagrua.

In the local “gascon” dialect, ‘Pela’ translates to hill, and ‘Grua‘ to Crane.


6 thoughts on “Pellegrue : Crane hill

  1. Probably this is purely french story, which reminds me the picture on my old post cards that were sent me a long time ago, the picture of the mill from one of the provinces in France. Nice!


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