I escaped feverishly from Montpellier and my hotel room.
Drove straight through with just one stop for gas around Nimes and a bathroom break before the exit to La Garde Freinet.
Wind and gray skies all the way.
Yellow blossoms along the road, mixed with dry grasses waved as I rushed past, lost in thoughts of nothing and everything; minding the road and the crazies; watching for sudden gales that could push me into another lane; listening to 90 year old Aznavour talk about his friends and play his favorite songs… Lots of poetry in nostalgie.
This morning I look around the garden and the sky.
Happy little clouds frame the villas on top of the hill…
I hear the concert of turtledoves
As I open the shutters.
And I smile at the sun poking
through the hedge of boxwood
to light a thousand spots on wet roses.
The air holds the scent of jasmine
as she climbs her way along the fence,
because she must.
The bougainvillea holds on to his color
for me to wonder anew
and to remind me
that it has not been so long…
That I am coming home.
I have come home.