Walking in the Alpine villages
On the border of Italian Piedmont, the Alps, high and low,
Offer the sweetness of living close to Provence and the bar of the Écrins,
True alpine mountain departments with perched villages, without jasses,
There is a pleasant mix of crafts and the joy of endless skiing.
At the frontier of the kingdoms of France and the Savoy of the dukes,
Vauban inviolable, Entrevaux and its fortress without viaduct
Overlooking a meander of the Var, protected by its blind walls,
Its village is connected to the citadel by a ramp bristling with gates without faults.
The skein of the narrow streets of the city shelters medieval stalls,
As for the episcopal palace, he recalled Francis I for his "singular affection"
You enter the old town by the drawbridge of the Royal Gate,
The beautiful hotels, illustrating the aristocratic life of the Great Century of creations.
Clinging to the cliff side, a crib protected by its star of Orion,
Moustiers-Sainte-Marie, renowned for its faience with polychrome decors,
Its tangle of narrow streets lined with monochrome ocher houses,
Leading to the square where stands the bell-tower of Lombard style of N.D. of the Assumption.
A path dotted with oratories leads to N.D. de Beauvoir, a small chapel,
Where, by climbing the triple hundred steps, one must raise one's head,
How many mysteries in this golden star suspended by a surreal chain,
Between the two cliffs above the village, by a crusader retracted from the Holy Land.
Turquoise snake traveling to the bottom of the canyon, the Verdon file to join the Durance
Mineral jewel where one admires along its throats its stream of sparkling water,
At the Sublime Point, it's high, it's beautiful, it's strong, it's great,
You are transported to the infinity of the sky where the vultures hang with immense wings.
At the end of the day, as close to the cliffs as it captures the heat,
One never tires of seeing this giant of the air hovering carried by the invisible currents,
Become the winged star of this exceptional site, he shares the sky with the fearless eagle,
Always royal in its rectilinear and haughty flight, all feathers in front.
Set on a rocky escarpment, surrounded by a landscape of cork oaks,
Simiane la Rotonde, of which Prosper Mérimée had the old dungeon classed
From the counts of Sault, a temple of the medieval sun,
The commune radiates between lavandin and lavender, its blue gold blooming so good.
Nestled in the heart of the valley of the White Aigue, Saint-Véran,
The country where the cocks peck the stars, in the heart of the Queyras natural park,
Nature lovers will find themselves in the summer for the course of aces
It is also here that the shepherds of Provence practice transhumant breeding.
Here the sundials measure time, the moving image of immobile eternity,
Life in traditional larch houses,
From the "caset", in stone of the ground floor serving as a barn and barn,
At the upper "fuste" in wooden logs, reserved for the dwelling of winter in the summer.
Coupé of the world until a recent date half of the year,
The town plan demonstrates the ingenuity of its inhabitants,
With wooden houses facing south, in separate quarters,
Insulated from the fire, with their fountain and their bread oven of yesteryear.
L’ARIÉ…..JOIE