email from a friend in France

I received this from a friend in France the other day, a man who lives in a village not far from Clermont-Ferrand. There's something charming about it, soothing even, that made me pause after reading it and give thanks for all the good people in my life. My friend has given me permission to publish his email here, forgiving me ahead of time for what I am sure is a poor translation.

This morning I found a sock of mine that's been missing for some time. It's a green sock with a white toe and heel, good for long hikes and bikerides. Finding the sock made me as happy as I've been for awhile. I might make a practice of mis-placing a sock on a regular basis so that I can find it and feel happy all over again. The sock I found this morning, the missing sock, was there all the time of course, not knowing it was missing, living alone in the sock drawer, out of sight of the sock police who are known to be tough on missing socks.

I thought, after finding the sock, ok, this is a good omen, I'll go for a nice long walk. I put on my green socks, my hiking shoes and walked outside, but when I opened the door the world outside looked like it was wrapped in plastic. By this I mean there was a haze over the countryside where I live, which is as you know, a rural area with more cows and chickens and geese than people. Perhaps the farmers are burning their fields I thought. But no, this wasn't the case, it was simply my imagination imagining that all the terrible things I'd heard on the radio and seen on tv were true and that the world was on its way to actually coming to an end.

There was a moment or two, I admit, when I had second thoughts, and then third thoughts, about whether it was wise for me to go out walking. Standing at the door of my home I asked myself,' what kind of man are you'? and several other questions of that nature until all the questions were used up and I either had to go on the walk or not go.

I'm happy to say that I took the walk instead of not taking it, and when I ventured out everything in the atmosphere cleared up slowly and surely, and the picture I'd had of the world being wrapped in plastic--surely a metaphor for the great damage we've inflicted on the earth--dissolved into one mild portrait after another of scenes of the French countryside on a fine day in early March. I walked all the way to Champeix and back which is, as you're well aware, a good long walk, especially for a man my age.