LOST IN FRANCE
In the distance
a dog throws its voice
so it seems
the trees are barking.
Sun and shadow
playing tag
between rows and rows
of trees.
France is made of
landscape and light.
I feel as if I am
walking in a painting
that is wet yet.
I nothing but
a mobile little smudge.
I drink in the light
as if my soul thirsted for it.
Now a yellow day
leaves its post
to chase me half way
down its road.
Now a Yorkie
guards the crossroads.
Here a sheepdog
silently trails me
until it has successfully
seen me off its turf.
I smile sheepishly.
I, lost and found
all at the one time.
Finally the road turns and
the village runs out to meet me.
I, now only lost
in wonder.
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 6:27 PM UTC
LOST IN FRANCE
In the distance
a dog throws its voice
so it seems
the trees are barking.
Sun and shadow
playing tag
between rows and rows
of trees.
France is made of
landscape and light.
I feel as if I am
walking in a painting
that is wet yet.
I nothing but
a mobile little smudge.
I drink in the light
as if my soul thirsted for it.
Now a yellow day
leaves its post
to chase me half way
down its road.
Now a Yorkie
guards the crossroads.
Here a sheepdog
silently trails me
until it has successfully
seen me off its turf.
I smile sheepishly.
I, lost and found
all at the one time.
Finally the road turns and
the village runs out to meet me.
I, now only lost
in wonder.
