Sometimes, “coincidences” are so inexplicable as to be downright creepy.
At the end of my day, I tend to browse YouTube to see what’s going on, to find a piece of music, or some old bit of comedy.
When I go there, I usually see a selection of those items on offer, based on previous visits. I suppose.
Last night, there was a selection of French lessons.
Maybe because I had been listening to French songs. It was no big surprise and I listened to one of the lessons to polish up my vocabulary.
Next, I looked back at the list and decided to find out why the French make jokes about their Belgian neighbours.
Not for any particular reason.
A young man gave an explanation of how the jokes came about and I watched really just to hear him speak.
The details were not especially interesting, but the suggestion was made that the origin of the jokes could be attributed to the poet Charles Baudelaire and a selection of his poems was mentioned:
“Les Fleurs du Mal” (The Flowers of Evil.)
In the remote past, I knew of Baudelaire, vaguely.
But his name has not come past my eyes nor flitted through my brain any time this century.
Or the last several decades of the previous one.
After a bit, I tuned in Amazon Music and went to bed.
With the cats all settled comfortably, I opened my book to where I had put it down and began to read.
Two pages in…
How does this come about?
Out of chance, I happened to be reading that particular page of that particular book within 30 minutes of having seen those same words on my PC.
The story is of a German detective in Berlin, in 1938.
Yet there was the reference to this French poet.
Raising an eyebrow, I whispered to the Universe:
“Erm, so what are you trying to tell me now?”
The previous night I had had one of those nonsensical, mixed-up dreams that in part involved Vietnam.
An hour or so later Vietnam had been the Worlde “country of the day.”
Then a fellow blogger posted a photograph of the last flight out before the fall of Saigon.
The latter I could accept as a more likely “coincidence” but this sort of thing happens so frequently.
There is a lot more going on around us, through us, than we can possibly comprehend!
At least, that is my view.
And speaking of views….yesterday we finally made the car trip I planned last week and never took.
Mostly I had forgotten what I’d intended, but I’d made notes, so off we set in the direction of Salem.
There are lots of Salem’s in this country and several in New York which is confusing.
North Salem is actually south of Salem.
Our route followed and eventually crossed the border into Vermont.
As we went along, I tried to catch shots of little roads going off to “nowhere”.
Soon we were into hilly terrain.
Power lines are impossible to avoid so I usually try to edit them out but in this case, I didn’t want to take out the birds that were sitting on the wires!
(That you can hardly see!)
As we progressed, the sky became a harsh white haze and while we had remembered at the last minute (running back from the car) to wear dark clothing, we still had considerable glare from the dashboard.
So in future, I must remember to drape it suitably!
By now it was obvious we had crossed into Vermont, although we had not seen a State marker.
You can just tell when you are in Vermont.
For one thing, their roads are white!
Everything looks neat and cared for.
There are old, abandoned houses and barns there too, but somehow even they look less desperate.
It is really very noticeable.
More roads to nowhere…
It’s tempting to go off down one of these roads
Everyone is making hay. In nice neat rolls.
How do they not roll away?
Vermont has some serious hills.
With nice neat valleys in between.
We passed several dairy farms.
From the little I know, it is a punishing way of life.
The sky changed again..
Hello New York!
The inevitable railroad tracks.
New York roads are not white.
Here, a few miles from home, the corn is already high.
Home stretch. I love this shady lane.
And the wispy sky.
The purpose of these outings is to find prime locations for viewing the Fall leaves.
This day I think we hit pay dirt.