In a blue-painted room under the eaves. Dragonflies too weak to fly in the heat.
Flute music spirals upward. Strawberries fall out of tin buckets.
Jeux Floraux de Toulouse, summer festival in honor of the Virgin
Mary. Poems to Notre Dame des Fleurs. First prize a golden
violet. Then prizes of silver marigold and silver églantine.
World gray-green as rain begins to fall. What emerges from the mist. Peach-
leaves recall the key of C. World that remembers rivers and Sunday afternoons.
Tree-shadowed rivers only.
St. Emilion. Season of La Vendange. Virgo on the cusp of Libra. A crumbling
fountain under ancient trees. Odor of burning vine stems.It is very cold, this
water. It has been famous in this valley for a thousand years.
Hay in the fields is brittle now with frost. A meadow shining.
In the darkness, everything a shadow of itself. Grayness with
a purple edge. Pine trees black as oboes.
Think of Flaubert’s Novembre. But still the compass shows true north.