CARLA ZWAHLEN ART

I lived in France for several months in the ancestral Chateau of a French Royal Family. I received the invitation to come to France and stay at the Chateau for as long as I needed to recover from the loss of my husband to cancer. Early morning walks through the forest, the formal gardens, and the sleeping herd and rose gardens were a balm when I couldn’t sleep. The rising sun’s filtered light streaming through the woods looked like someone lit millions of sparklers on the trees. I began understanding why the French Impressionists were so in awe of light and color.

This pastel is from one of those early morning walks.

But my early morning walks lit some fireworks of their own.

Nick and Carl, the security guards, slept in the room lined with computers monitoring the grounds, necessitated by wood-robbers who had climbed over the walls to attempt break-ins to the chateau’s library years earlier.  In the evening, the infrared lines outside were activated—any motion breaching the infrared lines set off the computer alarms. My thoughts were not in tune with infrared lines in my early morning wanderings.

I focused on how the sun washed the treetops with fire and, without thinking, repeatedly crossed the infrared security lines.

The alarm bells and whistles jarred the sleeping Carl and Nick. Oblivious to the commotion I instigated in their office, I wandered through the gardens until my always-with-me walkie/talkie buzzed. Because the Chateau had 100 rooms and the grounds were expansive, we had to communicate via walkie-talkies. I clicked on “good morning.” I heard, “Carl here, and You again forgot to warn us when you were out walking so early.” I was glad the castle did not have a dungeon.