prior to completion of the building

Dear Laws of Silence:

You may have heard of a catcher in the rye or even pigs in a blanket, but have you ever seen a hydrant in a stocking?

To make matters worse, from a distance, the black plastic wrapped around the lamp posts nearby look like grieving widows. But you can't see them here.

These fields are quickly becoming something else.

Kind regards,

Théophile Prades
Beaupuy, France.

To die, or in the case of inanimate objects, to cease working

Dear Gid:

You show us the Feral House, but let me please present you with the Feral Bike:


It makes a lovely corpse, but I'm not sure which kind of careless abandon is the greater crime; if it be a crime at all.

You Americans say that the only certainties in life are death and taxes. Oh how we proud Gauls know this! But you might also add a third truth: that sooner or later each one of us will have to decide whether or not to acknowledge the ghost in the wheatfield.


As you can see, even ghosts cast shadows.

Kind regards,

Théophile Prades
Beaupuy, France.

an impression of the man police

Dear Laws of Silence:

This is a field of colza. In English it's more commonly known as rape, or rapeseed. The plant is cultivated extensively in France for its oil, which can be used for a variety of industrial and nutritional purposes. It has become much more prominent of late as an ingredient in biodiesel.

On my drive to work it covers the land to either side of the highway, acre upon acre, the yellow and green carpet visible for at least 20 minutes of the 35-minute journey.

As I look out over the rolling landscape my mind wanders back over the distances of time, and one phrase repeats itself over-and-over, endlessly: "fields of rape...."

Bucolic, brutal, beautiful.

Kind regards,

Théophile Prades
Beaupuy, France.
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