February 19, 2018 2:33 pm
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From Sinkholes – Chapter One

A Distant Mirror

Nearly twenty percent of the French territory was of karst origin, as in the Vaucluse mountains Vercors, or in the low and narrow valleys near Marseille. It was in the region of Vercors – the mountain range to the west of the Alps of Dauphiné – which in 1953 was discovered the deepest abyss in France, 1,200 meters of underground infinity where the mature of the soluble gypsum was able to determine landscapes, where the surface is materialized Sinkholes, from which it was possible to access an incredible secret world.

Through points of absorption – like the Sinkholes – the underground hydrological system is continuously enriched with effects speleogenetic great, where the surface had surfaced chalks, had been formed, blind valleys, small grooves engraved on rocks that ended against insoluble gypsum walls. It was through those Sinkholes that began the subterranean water.

Jacques Delors knew perfectly well that the Sinkholes could be deadly traps – not only for water but also for human beings – because there was, for those who had entered, the ability to remain imprisoned.

The environment of Sinkholes was always fascinated the French sailor who considered him as a rapidly changing world, from one season to another, from one year to the next, where the arrangement of the various elements changed, because the water and the snow behaved in a special way, as they had their own life, as well as the emotions and feelings for humans.

Provence was for the sailor left-handed as a landscape, not only colorful, but full of a bright light and especially, that same that had inspired so many painters. He was only an amateur painter, but he wanted to paint with words the diversity of the landscapes and its dry mountains, the rivers and the rugged coastline, the waters of the Mediterranean and the labyrinths of limestone landscape was devoid of vegetation, but hiding a secret that he wanted to reveal.

He imagined that as the rainwater that seeped into the limestone producing a particular chemical action that disintegrated rock, the emotions could infiltrate – as well as rainwater – in the attitudes of men and women, producing a psychic reaction that altered the human character.

Took shape in his mind a great narrative hypothesis, in which the emotions cut through their mental weaknesses.

Eroding their transformed into Sinkholes – the “aven” in his language – which is gradually magnified, branching out to other weaknesses thinner and almost indistinguishable from that communicated with each other.

In his imagination the waters were emotions that flowed in an underground maze of tunnels, waterfalls generated in showers in small lakes held back by “gours”, the natural dams that were formed by the accumulation of calcium deposits.

With the inseparable open notebook in her hands, Jacques started to trace the foundations of his third novel, of which he knew little, but essential.

The Sinkhole was titrated, you would have written the water to be emotion and that in proceeding into that ended its run in many small complain underground different in shape and color, but also by name. Each of those small lakes was a different human emotion.

Sainte-Maries-de-la-Mer was a small town in the Lower French Camargue, and Jacques Delors had moved there three years before from Marseille, the city where he lived for over twenty years with his partner and their two daughters.

Behind that little jewel of the sea, the distant hills of Arles, in the period between June and August, everything was covered with rows of purple lavender, which made this unique landscape, with many of the nearby Camargue lagoons crowed with flamingos hanging around in the ponds of Parc du Pont de Gau, typical dinners of bull, bullfighting is not violent, horseback rides on the long white beaches or biking on the Digue à la Mer.

Everything was held hard to the rhythms of nature, herd of cattle to fishing in the ponds, the harvesting of salt to rice cultivation.

Even the cowboys from the black felt hat- with a foulard at the neck, flowered shirts and face scorched by the blazing sun, in that strip of 75.000 acres of beaches, marshes, ponds and paddy fields, testified to the strong wind the riot of color and those glimpses overtime where the gypsies in a caravan, with guitar in hand, singing to the nature of their love for freedom.









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