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A dramatic handwave from a window on the corner of Langerei and Goudenhandrei. |
Looking at my phone pictures I have realised that there are a number
of images, never used, which amused, or entertained, or delighted me
at the time of capture. A common thread, generally, is that they
were all taken during the early morning, or sometimes, The Very Early
Morning, walks when I
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One of the many delectable rewards of an early morning walk in Brugge! |
plod onwards, pursuing the vague goal of
reasonable health, with the image in the head of coffee and a
compensatory read at the end. It virtually never fails. An early
morning walk is not Quite The Same as the former early swim. The
latter saw me happily, lazily, ensconced in tepid water, head below
deck, joints moving slowly but rhythmically, for the half hour
designated, while the mind wandered luxuriously and freely. The Walk
is different. It involves more effort and much more concentration. I
have to take a great deal of care over the gorgeous cobblestones
which threaten to trip the unwary octogenarian, so my movements are
generally slow and plodding accompanied with downcast eyes, scanning
the ground ahead like searchlights. However, the aesthetic rewards of
sun-dappled water; the canopy of trees above giving shade in summer
and arboreal architecture in Winter, are many, There is a deep
satisfaction to an early walk; a dearth of fellow walkers- cyclists
though there are some; opportunities to discover little sights
unnoticed before; the chance to take photographs when something small
catches the eye; the never-ending pleasure of seeing familiar canals
and cobblestones in different weathers and lights, and absorbing
their beauties. There is the peace of the endeavour and the undoubted
pleasure at the end when, almost exhausted, one happily acknowledges
accomplishing a good deed in a naughty world.
My favourite photograph taken during these daily wanderings, is definitely of the words displayed
on a front door at one end of the
Coupure: Attention. Chien de tres mauvaise humeur. This must
be the most effective anti-burglar device ever and a similar
deterrent for the door-to-door salesman if such still exist. It would
be even better if the naughty dog turned out to be a peaceable Peke
for example. A touch of bonne humeur goes a long way. It reminds me
of a time when we had a Golden Labrador, an eminently good-natured
breed of dog. Our Shandy was at the extreme end of the continuum,
Mauvais\Bon; she was sweet and saintly. Once, long ago, a group of
red-faced, apparently hungover, Irishmen looking for work drew up
outside the gate to our rather isolated house and approached. Shandy
raced to the gate to welcome them and I said, “Don’t open the
gate till I’ve got her collar. She can’t be trusted.”
[as my husband had suggested I do when I judged it necessary.] As
they opened the gate, she broke free, such was her enthusiasm to meet
and greet, and threw herself at their feet, on her back, paws raised,
waiting for her tummy to be tickled. They looked both relieved and
emboldened!! " Why, she's SOFT," accused the leader.
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Moment of grace outside Sint Salvator
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I also
love the April photo taken during an early Lockdown walk; it is of a
momentary shaft of light streaming
through just one of the windows of Sint Salvator. It was stunning at
the time, an illuminating moment of early sun and conveniently-angled
stained glass in an unexpected conjunction of light and space.
Dramatic and beautiful in the grey exterior.
Last
week I noticed that the Coupure was full, presumably all boats parked
up for the Winter when harbour
fees in Brugge are more reasonable. I can’t now remember all the
names though Esme was still there, for my sister, and Hilde, too, for
my mother. There were others like Uit de Maelstrom and Grace a Dieu
which spoke of stormy seas and safe harbours. I rather liked the
regal Victoria, Victor and Imperial but loved the flirtatious,
feminine Chouette! I didn’t know the meaning but it turns out to be
great or very nice. Etre chouette a quelqu’un is to be really nice
to someone. Think I will now remember that!!
And
while being more of a dog person than a cat person, I enjoyed the
notice in a window quite near
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Chouette on the Coupure.
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to where I live. “
My cat is not a
pet; my pet is family.”Heartfelt.
It is a long, long time since I had a dog but I do remember the
strength of that feeling. My daughter in California and her family
had a much-loved black Labrador, Charlie, who almost reached the
splendid 14 years lifespan when, with so many things wrong with his system,
he had to be put down. Family council decided to wait a while before
replacing him but her nine year old daughter whose best friend had
been Charlie
for all of her
life, remained sad and
listless. Worried parents decided on action and the three of them
went to an animal sanctuary and found Luna, a German Shepherd who is
now, months later, pretty well in charge of the happy  |
| Part of that Forever Family. |
household. I particularly
liked the remark of the woman from the sanctuary who said, as
they took Luna away, how
delightful
it was to see a lovely
dog leave to go home with his Forever Family.
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Not taken during the early morning walks, but from the Carmerbrug in August, en route home early evening. |