Time for Mass

The church in PF is about hundred yards downhill from my house. It’s cool, smells of floor polish and candles and has a wonderful war memorial to the fallen young men of Pierrefeu from 1914-18 in the local language, Provencal.

These bells sound every day, summoning the diminishing faithful to Mass and sometimes for funerals. And on hot, sleepless nights I often count the chimes of church clock as the hours pass. Earlier on today, a friend of mine showed me an appartment for sale right opposite the church, with a terrace looking right onto it. That might be a little too close…

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