An aged free spirit spent her life under lock and key, now a relative passes, and she departs to pay respect.
Her nephew's open-minded and understands she could use a break, and happens to know a secluded location where feisty seniors get by.
The male pair's dialled in off the grid and have been for some time, one prone to grouchy outbursts, the other settled like humble pie.
Their lifestyle doesn't easily accommodate others, remote bush living requiring steady supplies, but they're as independent as they are resourceful, in regular contact with sustained sustenance.
Or Marie-Desneige's (Andrée Lachapelle) nephew anyways, who ATVs them up provisions from time to time, stopping to chat and relax lakeside, not so bad this side of February.
An inquisitive photojournalist comes calling with fresh sets of awkward questions, and since they have no interest in being found, they aren't as willing to respond as she had hoped.
Confrontation maladroitly abounds, as love blooms, identity blossoms, and angst prognosticates.
Il pleuvait des oiseaux.
Off the beaten track.
The urge to rigorously classify each and every individual is expressly resisted within, desires to live untethered, beyond, contesting traditional arrangements.
Practical argument may dispute its chill romanticism, but not without its characters having had their honest say.
Arboreally inclined foresty fomentation.
There's something to be said for the offbeat alternative rough and torchlit tumble, keeps you innocently aware through mature spiritual reference.
You have to appreciate what you have as opposed to imagining what you can get, even if online shopping's levelling the field, although that doesn't apply in this instance.
Note: the city is also amazing.
I love it when I meet people who are cyberspatially detached.
I can't do it myself, I admit I love the online world, but there are certain freedoms that persist if you spend your life offline, almost as if you don't exist, like you can't be tracked or followed.
Like a ghost or a bear, a bohemian, a spy.
A classical romantic.
Less prone to inane distraction.
If you somehow read this even though you live offline, consider that if you have no online footprint, you're perfect for spectral espionage.
Bu if iTunes disappears and therefore stops selling music, where do you go to buy music? Will AppleMusic be the only option? It's like downloading music from the internet for free wiped out millions for emerging artists, and record stores slowly merged into iTunes, but if iTunes stops selling music, and you still want to own albums, even if you can listen to them for free on AppleMusic, will record stores bounce back, and will those millions be made available once more?
It's cool to see people like Neil Young and Keith Richards with millions.
Can't say they didn't earn it.
Almost as if downloading music for free was ironically financed by the right wing establishment, to silence active protest, or at least make it much less comfortable to do so.
Il pleuvait des oiseaux generates aged pluck to state "it's never too late."
Cool characters and convincing situations.
A thoughtful narrative blend.
Provocative ego clash.
With love.
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