I had to smile yesterday, as photographs of me appeared on my own Facebook wall. I had been photographing a lovely family, organising the feet for a matching sneaker shot as I recall, unaware that I was being photographed by this lovely woman I know.
Thank you, Marleen. It's rare that I see myself like this.
It was a huge day in France today ... and while in the area, of course, we wandered off to explore Napolean's place in Fontainebleau.
Favourite moment was escaping the 3 tour groups (with guides) who dogged our footsteps and finding ourselves alone when we reached this magical corridor.
I am quite the brat when it comes to preferring to visit popular places alone. We achieved that illusion today.
See.
We have returned to the hotel so the Belgian bloke can watch Belgium play Algeria in the World Cup.
Currently this is not going well, at 67 minutes we have 1-0 to Algier however it has been lovely for me to sit down and go through my photographs ...
We wandered all over the area today, visiting Barbizon too. As in, The Barbizon school of painters were part of an art movement towards Realism in art, which arose in the context of the dominant Romantic Movement of the time. The Barbizon school was active roughly from 1830 through 1870. It takes its name from the village of Barbizon, France, near the Forest of Fontainebleau, where many of the artists gathered.
Source: wikipedia.
It is incredibly, stunningly beautiful there but very expensive. It wasn't a love at first sight kind of response but it was a beautiful village to stop a while in.
Update: at 70 minutes, Belgium scored.
This church. I couldn't resist slipping inside. It was completely empty and really quite beautiful ... another small glimpse of Moret-Sur-Loing.
I looked down, while crossing a bridge in the town of Moret-Sur-Loing, and saw this ...
I liked it and spent some time trying to capture something of the River Loing.
The mind I love must have wild places, a tangled orchard where dark damsons drop in the heavy grass, an overgrown little wood, the chance of a snake or two, a pool that nobody's fathomed the depth of, and paths threaded with flowers planted by the mind.
― Katherine Mansfield
