French la Vie

 

 

Northern California during late autumn,

golden valley, harvested fields, the labor of love, geese in flight.

Country roads leading near and far.

 

 

 

 

Clouds adding texture between the valley and the foothills.

A single tree sets the stage.

 

 

 

 

 

A barn in the middle of a harvested rice field.

I grew up in this valley,

under these clouds,

surrounded by rice fields and orchards,

in wide-open spaces,

with long grey paved roads,

and barns in the middle of seemingly nowhere, but at the center of my life.

 

 

 

The foothills north of San Francisco are rolling gold,

The fence posts holding the visible beauty breathing space as freedom,

this is the first sign that my childhood home is nearing.

My heart expands,

I feel the rolling gold, rolling gold, rolling gold…

 

 

 

Pouring into the Sacramento valley.

 

 

 

 

Sacha my son often asks, "Why did you leave?"

And my heart stings.

Following your heart is not always easy.

Especially when it divides you in two.

 

Oh, distant geese that fly overhead where are you going?

Rolling gold along the long grey paved road.

 

 

 

 

 

I left because I fell in love.

I come back because I am in love.

That is the gift of an abundant harvest.

But toil I must.

Rarely does anything grow without sweat, tear, discipline and desire.

 

 

 

 

At the end of the valley, Mount Shasta rises.

What do I see, the valley, the mountain, the peaks or the valley?

In honesty, it depends on the day.

The varied landscape of emotion and view.

 

 

Blue sky with clouds overhead.

 

 

 

A journey far and wide.

With its twist turns is never a straight shot.

Blurred are the borders, vast is the horizon,

Home.