Drève is one of my favorite words in French. It’s where trees line both sides of a road, touching in the middle overhead.
I hear the word rêve in it. Dream.
Going through a drève on a hot summer day is indeed a rêve. The heat shimmers on the pavement, making everything seem as if you’re looking through water. You probably see a mirage puddle on the asphalt.
Then you plunge into the cool tunnel of trees. It’s another world. A dappled world where you can breathe, unlike in the scorching heat outside.
And then you’re out again. Wondering why trees weren’t planted everywhere along the roadsides.