A Proustian blossom
In the first days of April we walked from the priory of Sainte Gauburge to the dolmen of the Pierre Procureuse, enjoying the first signs of spring in the hedgerows of le Perche, alive with hawthorn blossom.
In Remembrance of Things Past Proust writes of a country path ‘buzzing with the scent of hawthorn’ and the young Marcel promises himself, when grown up, not to imitate the senseless lives of other men, but, instead of socializing and listening to nonsense in Paris, to leave for the countryside in the spring to see the first hawthorn blossom.
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