They are the places that touch the heart and rejuvenate the soul. They tend to be surrounded by nature and offer extraordinary views (which are ideally absorbed from a hammock). They are blessed with some thing live, some presence. I felt it in Camarat, in the middle of the woods on top of a mountain overlooking the Med. And I recognize it here.
Something magical lingers at La Forêt de Lumière. The mornings are drenched with dew and bird calls. Sunset shares its colors and coolness with thirsty green plants and trees. Every day new flowers wake up to the world, new leaves emerge to brave the cows and the heat. And we, helpless humans, idle in awe as nature sets to work.
Engulfed in the hammock on the second floor balcony, I watch the sun burn its decline to set behind an endless horizon of trees. The breeze carries smells of vegetation, and I imagine the taste of the ripening fruits and vegetables incubating in the small garden. I smile at the warm colors and natural feel of the buildings, each emanating life. The lady cleans the kitchen. The old man retreats to his house. The tenant writes philosophy in a thatch hut of leaves and brick. And the steward surveys his work, faithful dog by his side.
This is life in the forest. Fridays are particularly magical, as the fading afternoon demands a puja—a small ceremony to the gods. A poet would describe it better than I ever could; or, perhaps, a Hindu. Regardless, I silently soaked in the blessings as workers and boss, guests and residents adorned small statues with flowers and powder and words of love. Armed with twisting spirals of incense smoke, they thanked higher beings for the forest, for their loved ones, for life. What a beautiful ceremony to witness:
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