We were driving from Paris to Bordeaux one
particularly hot August, more than
forty years ago now, through the shimmering
grasslands and sun flowers of the Beauce,
and decided to break our journey
at Niort. We stayed near La Venise Verte,
tree-lined canals constructed from marshland,
Marais Poitevin, reclaimed from the sea.
We hired a barque – a flat-bottomed boat
like a punt – and made our ungainly way,
far from autoroutes and determined cities,
past pollarded alders and under arching
willows, out of the August sun, noisily
at first, then silently, to a place
of dappled light, of almost tangible
stillness, of water and leaves, and the soft
murmuring of oceans.
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By David Selzer