Les lavandes de Nestor

As on a postcard, the silhouette of the lavender pickers is outlined. Sickles in their hands, they cut bouquets of purple flowers that they will dry later at the edge of the field. Already the bewitching scent of lavender tickles my nostrils. I see my uncle Nestor near the family still. His attentive eye scrutinizes every drop of essential oil that flows like a tear. Chemistry is operating soon, he is harvesting its precious treasure ...