More days than not, I go for a walk through some part of our village. Sometimes it's just down to the halles to buy a baguette. Other times it's because I've been writing all morning (or afternoon) and need a break. Often it's out into the open countryside all of five minutes away, or along by the river.
Almost always, I see something new. It could be a tiny passageway that threads between houses, or a date carved in stone over a door, or simply the changes in the seasons.
But rarely is it as good a surprise as this.
After all, this is serious confit and foie gras country.