ABSTRACT
I don’t recall sleeping during that night at the railroad station, but cannot forget awakening at dawn to glorious sunshine, and to more dépêchezvous . Now, we were being herded onto yet another train for the rather short trek to Villefranche du Lauragais. Roofless cattle cars awaited us on a siding far outside the station. Reinvigorated by the pure country air, we perked up as our train ambled through the rolling countryside, and joked that we were like cows being transported to their slaughter. I idly marveled at the green hills and plowed fields in the radiant dawn, at their irregular yet harmonious patterns, and at the neatly kept farmhouses and green carpets of grass. Blue cornflowers and red poppies were swaying with the wind. On this leisurely ride, we stopped every few kilometers to let a farmer or two get on, and enthusiastically returned the greetings by bustling gardeners and yeomen. As they looked up from their chores they waved and shouted their welcomes. I let myself loll in the bucolic peace, and reveled in the let-up from our tumultuous trip, while taking deep breaths.
