A memory from the midi-Pyrene 2002.
There is a path with wax berries over our heads. A basket and knife are all we take. Past the bath that obviously hogs used and up onto a derelict plato we slowly walk.
Far far away there is a stilt house for to catch the first lights of fires. There are a couple of mushrooms and the forage is over. They are all the pickings... to share?
After the dirt tunnels through thorny bushes they open at several rocky beds pushed up to the vertical wall.
Slowly perch and feel a glimmer of a birds view. The 'mill inn', some speck down there before the villages up and down the steam. What a river Aude.
Some time to soak in the warm on our cheeks, the fear of the drop, vastness and wonder at this rock we live on. Then, time for tea?
The way down is a fast bolting snake on an giants marble run. Trees happily forgetting the path that had been worked into the.
Who ate the other mushroom?