‘And suddenly you’re in love with everything’.
The words from Badly Drawn Boy’s gorgeous The Shining bubbling in my head as I jump out of bed, the warm early morning May sun already pouring in through the gaps in the bedroom shutters and ready to pour all over me.
‘Warm sun pours over me.
Soleil all over you’
Get the cushions out on the bench in a garden aching for the sun’s pour after yesterday’s rare rainfall.
The first red rose of the season peeping open at me from the rosebush on the corner.
Set up Anne’s morning coffee as usual and get the doggos ready for our morning ramble. Broad-backed boisterous Lily, and dexterous elder Bella, newly shorn and eager for the outing, despite the recent heart issue and the infection ‘down below’ that had her at the vets. She’s pushing on, and no way around that.
How can you not be in love with everything on a morning like this?
And then I remember Francois is dead.
The news late last night from Joel in a long text that practically cried.
Gorgeous, unworldly Francois.
The world’s fault, not his.
Artist, thinker, tippler and unfettered child of the 70s … prog rock and Carlos Castaneda. Scratchy records, pile of books, his roll-up cigarettes and his imagination all he seemed to need to be content, or so it appeared back then to my own uneasy questing self.
Francois worked sporadically as a restorer of old stone walls, boosted by the odd call to arms from builder pal Joel. Leaving him free the rest of the time to create his intricately patterned, bright-coloured, deep-layered pastel flights of fantastic fantasy only interrupted by the boundaries of the canvas.
Piles of them, rolled up and stored in the corner of his room in the family home. So glad we bought one and took it home with us from that recent visit. Hanging in our hallway, so bright, so cheerful and so full of memories old and recent. And now, new minted poignance.
Warm sun seemed to pour from the very being of this warm, gentle man I first met when we were young all those years ago in France.
That late evening outdoor gathering at Joel’s in September 2023, when we visited my old gang in Verdelais village , where I spent a year of my life.
Working under Joel, I was really one of a crew of drifters and dreamers drawn to this wonderful man — a man I am proud to be still in regular communion with all these years later — for his kindness, humour and sunny nature, as much as we welcomed the francs we earned, kind of, for carrying buckets of water, mixing cement in the ancient mixer, cleaning up, and just trying to keep Joel’s flow going as he did all the real work.
One of a crew that included Francois. Curly haired artist Francois. Wild thicket of hair atop a calm head. ‘L’homme tranquil’ as Joel had christened him.
Nothing seemed to faze this soft-spoken guy, dwelling in his head, and often only responding seconds later to a question or instruction. Busy working on his latest piece in that wooly, wonderful head.
Oh Francois!
Never saw him vexed or put out, his low voice always soft and in tune with his peaceful, slightly bewildered demeanour.
Out in my garden now, the warm May sun is bringing me closer to the Verdelais of my youth. I am back there now, only my aching bones and stiff back to remind me there is no going back, not really.
Oh, but the memories, pouring all over me.
This one red rose in my morning garden of remembrance,
Then and now.
Alas, then and now will never meet again, only intersect briefly in fond recollections.
In this one red rose for Francois.
Salut, mon pote.
‘Now that we’re here, and grieve for me, not history
But now I’m dry of thoughts, wait for the rain,
Then it’s replaced, sun setting
And suddenly we’re in love with everything.
Soleil all over you, warm sun pours over me.
Soleil all over you
Warm sun’
EndaStories 
Interesting
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Thank you Caleb
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My first time to comment on my Enda’s words publicly anyhow. Tears streaming down my face. Truly truly beautiful. So glad to have touched that important time for you Enda when I met Francois in 2023. Big love ❤️
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Glad you’re biased, hun. Yeah, he was a dude, wasn’t he? ❤️
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A beautiful tribute to your friend. My condolences for your loss.
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Thank you Clive
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This is a beautiful tribute. Thanks for sharing it “Alas, then and now will never meet again, only intersect briefly in fond recollections.” is such a great line. 🤣😎🙃
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Very kind iof you to say so
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Beautiful essay.
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Thank yyou Neil
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Alas, then and now will never meet again, only intersect briefly in fond recollections. Beautiful.
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Thank you Mary. How are they all in Budapest?
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No less mad than the rest of the world 🙂 We’re now ensconced in a lovely village in SW Hungary – far from the madding crowd. Was up early enough this morning to catch sight of deer down by the lake. A lovely start to my day.
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Wow … how wonderful
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Just beautiful!!! I can almost feel the sun on my face reading this with the image of your dear friend Francois in my head, such a fab painting to cherish with those beautiful memories
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Yeah, Pam, and there were/are dozens of other paintings just as nice. Francois was far too dreamy and diffident to have made a real effort to sell them. Joel tried to organise it for him, but it was impossible to get him to get it together. It’s not that Francois was above all this … he loved a drink, and the craic, and conversation, just no real interest in money beyond funding the necessities
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A truly fond farewell. Treasure those memories.
regards Thom
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Oh I do, Thom, I surely do. A special man, and a special time
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It’s always sad to lose a friend near or far. I’m sorry for the loss of Francois, you paint a perfect picture of him with your words.
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Thank you Anne
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A fine tribute.
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