Waiting for the Sun

Already lit up across the bay and dressed in faded terra cotta,
St Tropez waits for yachts and sailboats.
The sun is slowly rising over the bay; he has not reached me yet.
When his heat touches the trees and warms the air,
Leaves will tremble, needles will quiver, dew drops shudder
Then the day will begin his chores.
The air still smells of darkness and shadows.
A hum bubbles around my soul.

A cautious little bird silently watches the world
From a lopped off cedar, waiting.
Noisier birds play their morning symphonies,
Bouncing rhythms and notes over hedges.
A tern glides below me,
Dipping a wing in the Med, testing the water.

I watch and wait facing east like the gulls.
They bob in clusters on quiet ripples
That glide towards the sand and pebbles,
Barely wetting the beach and then withdraw.
Eternity is laid out before me…
No, not eternity, timelessness.

In a shimmer of dusty blue, the Med sighs her contentment as she waits.
Soon the haze will disappear and her conversation
With the Provençal sky will resume.
Reflections and mirrors,
The beauty of one seen in the other.

About emmylgant

Cloud watcher and dreamer sometimes wise, often foolish, but I am what I am.
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6 Responses to Waiting for the Sun

  1. PapaBear says:

    What a beautiful way to wake up and greet the world ! How could you have left it ? I would have cheated, lied, and made all kinds of excuses not to leave. Ah, Em, welcome back to the workaday world. Happy Tuesday evening!


  2. Tu peins encore l’image entiere et merveilleuse!
    J’aimerais passer quelques moments en étreignant cette vision.
    Merci, cherie, c’est superbe.


  3. What an extraordinary talent you are


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