Φωτογραφίες

Oooh no! This is not mountain ...
He is not proud at this point.
No, he never would have ventured over there ...
Too dangerous, too light ...
The altitude, the ice in winter are not for him.
He would have blushed indeed
To be compared to a torrent.

No, since his birth, he is unpretentious.
No way for him to run openly,
to spoof fish or eddies.
No, maybe one or the other crayfish,
In his most pronounced trough,
at most a stickleback ... ...
The rocks, the stones are for him
a real tragedy.
He can not jump over without betraying
Without a murmur,
A smothered swash...
To sneak quickly under the brambles,
Under cover of a providential willow,
Away from the gaze of curious, playful children,
Who do not hesitate to prosecute him, to step over,
To laugh at him, because of his small size.
Some do not hesitate to throw stones to him.
Then he goes, ashamed, embarrassed, avoiding humans.

Further, his world becomes more savage.
In the last valley
nothing but flowers for company.
And a welcome wind, to hide its presence.
Here, finally, he can run ... happy moments.

But the slope gets strong, more and more.
He should now run faster, and faster ...
Keeping back the pebbles, which scatter everywhere.
No, this time it is too much, he gives up.
There is no question any more of fighting.
And why, please?

He is tired, exhausted, our brooklet!
Alone for too long.
What then, except
Throwing himself into the waves
of an unknown sea ...

The brook Le Lude (his actual name Le Crapot, forgotten today) was born in Saint-Michel-des-Loups, behind the village of Champeaux, in the Manche department, south of Granville. He only runs 4.5 km before flowing into the sea in the middle of a landslide of rocks and pebbles called Port du Lude, in the Bay of Mont St.Michel, between the Pignon Butor and the Cabane Vauban, between Jullouville and St-Jean-le-Thomas village.

You discover him here in his last meters ...
In WS, behind the scene. And on the right, the littoral path.