A picture is a poem without words..
so what else did I do
while I paused from the end of the year rush
I added some greens...
Tied bows and hung fragrance crystals
re -arranged books,
remembered the day I found this painting
in a tiny little antique shop in Avignon
and looked for longer then just in passing...
I wonder where this could be?..
could it be the Loire passing under the bridge..
who fed the swans...?
the trimmed trees and hedge
the tower, the turrets..
it all looks so familiar,
of towns we pass through in France
a bit of all in one.