Learning to paint in France
Cobblestone roads well worn by now. How much so does ancestry burnish down the stone, or how much up, embossing pliant feet?
Here’s where we decide about shoes.
Then those days, crystal pearls on a thread, when it rained outside. Very hard. Like smooth white bone.
When the storm was met by the fabric of grandparent’s woven cloth. Some bundled limbs the fury did not sway.
We followed ourselves into rain.
Discovering pigments right there at our fingertips, all along. No tapping cane to merit the path for feet to scuff.
Who will dare say when all the apples are ripe? Even in winter’s shadow dawn is sweet.
neil reid © october 2012
comments:
and simple thanks to a lady in France
bearly audible 
This is deliciously delightful. If I were the lady in France, I’d be very flattered and very very pleased. You’ve turned a rainy day into a palatte of wonderful images. Well done!
Thank you Julie. Of course it’s an analogy for something of essence more.
You have the climate down to a T! We have been experiencing a lot of hard rain, like smooth white bone, I like that you want to learn to paint here: there’s plenty of material.
I suspect I’d like it there. Storms have more to say than sunny days, don’t you think. Big voice though, certainly. Care advised.
Thank you Viv. (no you, no poem you know… ) 🙂
Like the spareness yet each image so rich.
Love the line, ‘We followed ourselves into rain.’ Cannot explain reason. Just resonates with my west coast life.
I understand. No need to justify. Same same me, and the title you see. I heard that line, and the poem began itself.
It is important to trust our responses, yea. And thanks for the visit.
`no tapping cane to merit the path for feet to scuff’ Just love this, Neil.
Thank you for the visit and reading. This poem came mostly out of the blue. Probably the better, the less thoughtful in a way.
(hmm… insert a transition here) There’s that “buzz” around right now over the new movie, “Cloud Atlas”. High interest, the concept itself. Unlike me, I bought the book to read. My review is simply… oh my!
Writer to writer, I say, go look for yourself. His voice, his image are like a hailstorm, just that rapid and dense and satisfying. Now to think, how does that become also a prompt or prompts for us!
I like the last stanza, the idea of all the apples being ripe. How true that is in autumn approaching winter. I’m looking forward to my winter sojourn in France though the days be wet with rain and cold I reckon.