The morning gleamed toward the south. The blue sky fading under the heat became the grey colour of a pearl. A buzzard soared, its flight seemingly effortless, tracing larger and larger circles as it ascended. At a distance of a few hundred meters lay the shimmering peacock-blue surface of a river, lazily carrying the mirage like reflections of the alder whose cruel leaves exuded a bitter perfume. The intense blackness of these reflections cut sharply the light pale colour of the water. Close to a damn fish slipped past in bands. It was as if the beating of the angelus’ wings could be heard resonating outward from the torrid whiteness of a bell tower. Hare’s midday nap began.