Sunday, 11 October 2015

Building 52

I have passed this ancient windmill, or rather the walls of a windmill many times while driving to Toulouse.


This morning, on a dog walk, we decided to actually walk up to it, and could instantly appreciate why it was constructed there, being completely to exposed to all species of wind - east, west, north and south.
If a building could think and recall, I wonder how its visual and audial memory of the landscape would be.
The field it sits in is currently ploughed up for winter; the residual brown stalks and seeds of sunflowers still scattered across the clods. The sounds are of an occasional car speeding along to the next village. Perhaps when the mill was functioning the view would have been wheat and woodlands and the distant mountain chain; the sounds, millstones grinding and horses hauling grain sacks.





On the doorway's stone blocks I noticed this beautiful carved name: early graffiti? or perhaps the mill owner or worker's signature; someone who had sat enjoying the view of the grey-blue Pyrenees at the end of a day's work. The same view we appreciated this morning on a perfect, early autumn day.




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