A voice from on high

For those that don't know, I live part time in the center of a small French village. The houses were built starting in the 1400s.

Saturday mornings are full of vendors setting up for the marché and people out to buy before the crowd.

By contrast, on Sunday mornings, the village seems like a ghost town. Even people who want fresh-baked bread for breakfast are still in bed. The smell of baking bread, however, is a signal that their desires await when they rouse themselves.

A little before eight, Sherlock demanded to go for a walk. He is not interested in freshly-baked bread but wants to pick up the p-mail left by neighboring dogs during the night. I would have preferred to be one of those in bed, but I threw on my clothes, jacket, gloves, put the plastic black bag to help keep the streets clean,* and opened the door.

"UN, DEUX, TROIS, PARTI," 

 a voice boomed from the heavens. 

Arghhh...never have I needed celestial instructions to take the pup for a pee.

We walked around the corner where I could see the main road.

Several runners rushed by. Hmmm...

A little investigation revealed that there was a race as part of the French fund raiser that happens every year at this time. The voice was not some deity giving me the okay to go for the walk. It was the village loudspeaker speaker system.


*See Rick, I used an Oxford comma.