Author's Note: Ah, September, start of the school year. Or, in this case, the start of a very fruitful residency.
le Moulin à Nef, Auvillar, France My studio window looks out at the Garonne which has nothing to do all day but unroll its bolt of green linen. Up the hill is the sunlit village with its half-timbered houses and one boulangerie. During the day, pilgrims on the Compostelle, the field of stars, hump their rucksacks up the steep streets. O vivre douceur! It’s fall, and the light is golden, alchemical. Bake us into sun warm brick, carve us out of ancient stone. Soon the moon will slip from its mooring, ride the river of night alone.
Originally published in Some Glad Morning, University of Pittsburgh Poetry Press, 2019
©2021 Barbara Crooker
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