I heard crickets today
I heard them every night and day.
I heard lazy conversations in French
To the sound of reggae and a glass of rosé.

I smelt the freshness of Mont-Saint-Victoire
And dryness of the ground beneath my feet.
Smelt the distinct odour of oil paint in the distance,
Creating a new 'œuvre d'art’.

I touched a rough stone wall, covered with dust and dead leaves
It seemed sharp against my fingers but I only smiled.
I felt the soft fur of a stray cat
It hissed at me but didn't move a limb.

My tongue tingled from the bitter sweet bubbles of apple cyder,
Tingling my throat and warming my chest.
I took another sip and it ran through my body,
Relaxing every muscle.

My eyes were half closed yet still focused.
I saw children running around,
I saw old houses leaning one side
I saw Vauvenargues.

Poursuivi par les rafales
les cyprès se penchent au soleil –
Mistral

The first cicada
and a glass of Côtes du Rhône –
Summer is here

A light-dappled square,
Buzzing like the
Center of the universe.
Flat-capped Frenchman
Strut like mid-century
Movie stars.
Cigars flaunt from
Languid fingers.
Serious facades mask
Red-blooded kinship.
They wait their turn to
To flick, to spin, to thud
Their steel onto
Provençal terrain.
What a life. What a game.