It feels very strange
In hindsight, I heard the crash on Tuesday. While I was tacking up Flurry, there was a distant rumble. I thought nothing of it, of course. Then, as I was driving home an hour and a half later, a military jet flew so low over Reillanne that I couldn’t believe he had missed the tower of the Eglise St Denis. Military jets fly up and down the Luberon valley all the time so, again, I thought nothing of it. Later, when I learned about the crash, I realised that the jet must have been on its way to reconnoitre the site.
Yesterday and today, the air is filled with the distant drone of helicopters, presumably ferrying journalists, recovery teams and the families of the victims, up and down the Durance valley from Marseille airport. As I worked in the arena with Aero today, a military plane flew over the woods beside us – very slowly, and so low that it was practically brushing the tree tops. Looking for debris? Who knows.
But, bizarrely, life goes on. I walk my dogs. I go to the shop. I continue to work on the release of the Ballyloch stories. I fill and soak hay nets. I ride my horses.
Today, as I looked at the beautiful mountains from the arena, I thought of the lives lost there. I thought of the brave pompiers, gendarmes and soldiers who have the unenviable task of attempting to recover whatever body fragments they can from the wreckage. I thought of the locals up there, who must surely be deeply traumatised by the tragedy.
I’m sad. I’m sad to hear that it seems to have been a deliberate act on the part of the co-pilot. I’m sad for the victims and I cannot imagine the terror of their last few moments. I’m sad for their families and friends, whose lives will never be the same again.
And I’m sad for my beloved mountains, destined to be an eternal monument to the memory of Germanwings flight 4U9525 and all who lost their lives last Tuesday.