FOLLOW THE SUN

I tend not to write poetry when on the move, preferring to work in the surroundings of home with its lack of distractions.
Instead, I try to gather material on my travels for later use in poems or short stories.
The poem below however is the exception to this, in that I wrote much of it while travelling to Angouleme.

 















LA BELLE FRANCE

A hawk commands its post as we zip by, his gimlet eye evaluating us.

Beyond the gate a sunflower field spreads like a golden sea,
while to the right
green rows of vines march towards the swelling sun.
It’s forty-two degrees out there
but here,
within our air-conditioned car,
we are at ease,
our summer trip through southern France a joy.

It’s all we Francophiles desire:
small cafes, vineyards, postcard-rural scenes
and pungent cheeses far too numerous to count.

There’s much to see as we drive through
this countryside so similar, yet different, to home.
Each turn, each tiny hamlet brings surprise.

Already
I have forgotten
the hawk’s bleak eye of cool disdain.