In her blue Morris, Kendall meandered through the Loire valley. Every now and then, she cried at the wheel. The Loire valley was Kendall’s rescue, it had something dignified and orderly. Order had always calmed her. When she cried or was gripped by her ego, which can also make you blind, it was a miracle that she didn’t end up in a ditch.
Every night she stopped at this or that auberge, had her car filled up and ate what was available. She slept like a log; when she was awake, nothing got through to her either. The crying only happened at the wheel, and the blindness lifted just enough when she focussed on the road.
At other times, Kendal was able to admire the chateaus, the wide meadows and woods, the rivers too, glistening silvery bands winding between the sands and the willows. The beauty touched her, although she was not sure which part of her. Neither her mind nor what she would have called her heart would own the feeling, but she suspected it was joy.
After six weeks, Kendall still hadn’t stopped her aimless driving, but order was restored. Every meadow, every silvery sandbank and woods and willows were her merry companions.
The people in the Loire valley had gotten used to her. They didn’t ask questions. Kendall and her Morris now belonged here like the vagabond who follows his trails through the seasons.
Then it was autumn. The weather turned and instead of her blindness the November fog clouded the view of the chateaus and meadows. Her body was able to register again her feeling at the sight of beauty. Kendall didn’t cry anymore either. Still, it couldn’t go on like this. The tires were slick, and the breaks needed repairing, or otherwise Charlie would have the satisfaction of her skidding off one of the dignified, orderly roads of the Loire valley and drowning in the glistening silvery river. That, her ego wouldn’t allow.
At the next post office, she sent a telegram:
Arrive Sunday Paddington STOP Dinner 7pm at Bertram’s STOP
meinbaumhaträder // mytreehaswheels 