Vallée de l’Orb

The hushing of leaves

in tune with the river’s rush,

while crickets sound alarm clocks

that nobody heeds,

as all the world’s awake,

chirruping, squabbling

unseen from treetops.

The spaniel gallops on

to dive-bomb her reflection,

but we follow gingerly

on two legs apiece,

picking our way unshod

down a dusty track

of pebbles and brush.

On land we are various

veterans and teens,

and all stations in between,

dark, fair, mousey,

strapping or thin,

Parisians, Londoners,

coastal and country folk,

Straining...