CHAPTER XXVI
THE CAMARGUE
Sometimes a lonely sea-mew breaks the monotony of the sky, or, some huge-winged bird, the "stalking hermit of the lagoon," casts a flitting shadow.
"One vast desert ...
The sole confine some distant glare of sea."
In summer there are no flowers in this forsaken region, only the white inflorescence of salt crystals—frozen tears of generations of vanished peoples one might fancy them. And, as if in mockery, a mirage, born of those bitter tears, hovers on the horizon as the hot sun breeds an invisible vapour from which arise distant cities and a labyrinth of smooth lagoons that shimmer alluringly across the white solitude.
Such is the Camargue. The description, however, applies in strictness to the summer season. In winter the salt with which the ground is saturated is not visible; there is only a moist oozy-looking soil, growing reeds and stunted bushes.
PORCH OF CHURCH OF ST. GILLES IN THE CAMARGUE.
By E. M. Synge.