Ils sont là autour de nous, nous les croisons au bord de nos routes. Cachés dans nos haies au bord des champs.
TROLLS IN PAYS DE BRAY
Being right doesn’t matter to me, but I am not saying anything. Dreams are far nicer anyway.
Those strange beings: trolls, turn into trees and live in tree edges of our countryside Paying attention to the yews, I can see their wooden faces, their brush hair standing on their head. Aren’t they sweet? Yes, for sure, but you’d better be careful and not insult them. They are guardians of our prairies, our sweeps and of the little animals of our lands, guardians of our souls, hopefully.
They look kindly upon us.
This is not the first time that I stop my car next to them to approach them, to see how nice they are, talk to them, who knows, they might understand me, I ask for permission to take their pictures and draw them. So last Friday, I stopped my lorry on the high street in the village of Blacourt.
I was told that the peasants of the past let the stems grow, then, when they were long enough, they would cut them to make “baleen”, balai (broom) in Celtic. They were made by “baladins” or “balaitier”, the famous “fagot”, the famous witches favourite vehicles. Did you know they were born in Picardie? Anyway, I tell you their story* next time. As time to go by, the broom has become a brush. In fact, a brush making manufactory, next to Beauvais, is still working thanks to its know-how.
Nowadays, hedges shelter and preserve insects, birds and small animals.