Looking back at my experiences thus far in France I have attended two dinner parties, three luncheons, an outing to Le Treport and Mers les Bains, a walk along the English Channel in Crotoy, an evening of art and live music in Amiens, an afternoon in Saint Valery, and a trip to Arras. All of these experiences have occurred out of the good nature of my colleagues and for them I am very grateful.
The following blog entry will differ slightly from the others in terms of organization. The previous blogs have focused on a single period that occurred in chronological succession to the others. This blog will portray snap shots of various moments that are written in different genres. These experiences represent la crème de la crème of my life in France; moments that remain memorable even after a significant period of time has passed.
These are the moments that have surfaced:
Crotoy:
Le Crotoy:
An homage to tourists, weekend travelers, and sun worshippers—
Where beauty is as ubiquitous as the salty essence of La Manche and ses fruits de mer.
A location where memories, romance, and laughter run freely—
Where cultures and languages harmoniously mélange.
A town full of new experiences, milestones, and dreams—
Where frigid waves meet bare flesh with screams of joviality.
The village where sand is danced upon, transformed into creative structures, and imprinted—
Where childish giggling hangs in the air and landscapes are permanently captured.
A nautical vision transfixed in memory, sights, and photography—
Where reminiscing resides in smiles and pleasantries:
Le Crotoy.
La Nuit Blanche, Amiens, France:
(written in the same rhyme scheme as Edgar Allan Poe’s « The Raven »)
An evening of festivals, imagination, and hoopla,
Where sleeping is left up to chance.
Fatigue is void to movement and art,
As artistic imaginations attempt to take a stance.
Youth sulk preoccupied with romance,
As the drums begin and I join in the dance.
Visual cacophonies of colors and angles
Invade the thoughts of passers-by perchance.
Harmonies fall lightly on accepting ears
While head-banging instrumentals cut like a lance.
Music transforms the walk of the world into prance
And the drums begin and I join in the dance.
Absent creators leave their work for regard
by ranging interest—significant pause, passing glance.
Present sound creators receive immediate recognition
As movement occurs amongst the vast expanse.
Liquor-laden night owls stagger about in a trance
While the drums begin and I join in the dance.
The night rolls on a continuous reel
As powerful art is met with searching looks; heads turned askance.
Necks careening to one side, the other
In hopes that their understanding of the piece will enhance.
The beauty and magnitude solicit a desired cry of “Vive la France!”
Instead, the drums begin and I join in the dance.
No comments:
Post a Comment