For four months I wondered why I couldn't summon the energy to photograph people. It wasn't because there was a lack of opportunity, more I think that every time we met someone they became lifelong friends and the question never arose!
Didier was one of them, although neither of us spoke a word of each other's language at the time. We chatted for twenty minutes or so after he caught me photographing his corn stash. He lives in the little village of Choisey, in the manner of his forebears, with neither heating or ill humour.
I should have concentrated more on this photo, I wanted to reflect the animation of our conversation, and the nature of it, but I tried to hard at a shutter speed that was too ambitious. He told us of the centuries it took to build the church in the village, and of how many generations had lived in his house before him, but we didn't understand enough to make sense of the conversation, any more than he will make sense of the Christmas Card from Australia when it arrives.
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