As I was closing the shutters one evening this past week, I was suddenly caught in that feeling of timelessness that I frequently experience in this old village. That moment suspended in time when I feel connected to the people who have lived here over the centuries. Dusk was gathering, and there was a light drizzling mist shimmering against the village street lights. Damp cool air rolling up from the river met the warmer air hovering against the causse shrouding houses and barns in mysterious fog. The shutter hinges creaked, the metal latch slapped against its holder. It's a sound that I can identify morning or evening as I walk the ruelles of Cadrieu. It's the sound of villagers opening shutters to the morning and closing them to the dark, damp night It's a sound and an action that the village has experienced since its birth over 700 years ago. That evening I joined Cadrieucois across the centuries as I shuttered my house for the night. Like them, I closed out the dark, the cold, and the misty fog. As they have done for centuries, I made my home safe against the enemies of the elements and of society.