Hike

  

These shoes cling hard to rock

No need to slip or fall

As steep steps take us up

At the top a view of Albuquerque 

Many selfies with friends

On the way down 

We have no need for hanging on 

Just balance step by step
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dVerse prompt on shoes

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Hike

Forest Fires

Smoke filled the valley coming into Idaho. Where there were mountains now you could not see mountains and dusk came early from the thick haze.  Bring some rain we pleaded in a circle dance, dancing all night while the flames shot forty feet into the dark sky.

Who can save us from this char-filled air, breathing in the remnants of fire hundreds of miles away over the Canadian border?   Last night it stormed all night in Zion.

Lightning strikes the earth

Twenty fires in Idaho

The state is burning

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dVerse prompt on the imperfect

Forest Fires

Still Life in Paris

We leave a few things behind

but take much away

Not material items

or memory of the best places to go

 

A red sunset along the Seine

that lights the buttresses

of the Notre Dame Cathedral

the walls turned crimson

 

Small boats pushed with long sticks

by boys at the fountain

Somber look of statues in the Louvre

seen only from the outside looking in

 

People wait by the glass pyramid

formations of people heavy buildings

flowing water brought together

in a still life in Paris

Still Life in Paris

Lunch at Montrichard

 

Cafe de Paris a quaint little space

under the shadow of the ruined fort

in Montrichard

 

moules and frites

in such a tasty creme

of onion and garlic

 

chives sprinkled over the sauce

which lies at the bottom of the bowl

salt and pepper too

 

sauce is trapped among the shells

some have fallen out and bathe

in the richness of this simple broth

 

served with baguette tre bien

 

 

 

Lunch at Montrichard

Creperie Ty Couz

In a village outside of Pont Aven we are greeted at the creperie
by the family Valmes. Mother and father, sister and her husband,
their daughter and her husband Faberce, and Danielle and Fabion.
It is a surprise to see all of the family together.

The mother and father do not speak English. The brother-in-law
is retired Royal Navy officer and he has been to New York, Los
Angeles and New Orleans. He knows some English. We talk using a
small dictionary Francais Anglais English French. He shows me
his hand that once held a lance in a war in North Africa.

I want to know more of this French war he speaks of but I do not
know the language and the little dictionary we hold will not contain
all the words needed to talk of wars and ships, the economy of
governments or imperialism in Africa.

Monsieur of Brest sits next to me eating his crepes with lanced
hands holding the knife and fork. He shows me how to eat the crepe
and recommends the saucisson campagne, the sausage of the farmer who
makes it in the countryside. He translates the phrase as sausage
of the farmer. I look to the book for a word to word translation
sausage of the countryside. With his healed hands he demonstrates
the act of the farmer stuffing sausage. We drink the cider that was
also made by a farmer from this countryside.

Here the daughter of Angeles carries on the traditional business
of her mother as her mother before her did. The batter is poured
on large flat heated plates and spread with long spatula in a circular
motion until it is amazingly thin. At just the right time it is
flipped and the egg, if an agg was ordered “crepes oeuf”, is opened
over the crepe and the egg falls in the middle. The white is spread
over the crepe until it too is very thin and the heat permeates the
crepe and cooks the egg. Cheese is sprinkled over it and then folded
from all four corners. Served fresh from this woman of the countryside.

Creperie Ty Couz

The Sun of Pont Aven

 

The sun of Pont Aven brightens the sailboat to a blue

deeper than the Van Gogh sky of Champs de ble

Blue sailboat moves along the river L’Aven

the light presses it on and on

like wind in sails its loft making shadow

that leans further into the movement of the day

 

Here in Port Manech can you see

 day ride on into its own demise

with acceptual strength

and boldness only to disappear into the sea

slowly into the blackest shadow

of night

The Sun of Pont Aven