the early morning, I like to point the nose to fill my nostrils
this gentle acre
Who announces the summer, pleasure, warmth,
This the smell of just cut hay.
is the time when pearl dew on grass,
When the sun crawls, delaying his survey,
Wishing for any purpose, longer days,
Making of June, the longest of journeys. This odor
wilting tickles my memory.
And I think these boots he had picked up, transported and stored
to quickly protect
By praying all the saints, they are not rain.
At the time, they said: "We'll make hay."
Parents, friends, everyone was there because
to work quickly, we gathered up.
me during my vacation, I gave them the hand. The task
was hard. From morning till night,
Using a fork, we loaded the bales
Pyramid plant placed on trays,
precarious balance was a pebble fall!
Then the wheel mounted on a stable, agrarian
Architecture transmitted from father to son,
Cathedral plant temptress
promise for all the animals confined in the barn.
But now the wheels at home, no longer exist,
Replaced by "balls" thrown at random,
In the meadows, fields, alignment weird
Without harmony, incongruous Carnac !
No need accomplices for carting the bales.
A tractor, trailer, driver and voila.
one person where he had arms.
The work is performed at the radio.
The gigantic columns of stacked balls,
Fortresses of progress that can be seen from afar,
are also symbols of what humans can create for use
profitability.
course that machines have reduced the book
Paying more effective work in the fields.
But the idea of focusing performance
surely we forget the concept of sharing.
And we no longer see, leaving a pile of hay,
Young urchins and sweet damsels, dusting
nose, away from an umbrella,
After spending a sweet moment rascal!
And these wheels collapsed at the end of winter,
Were hiding places for kids dreamed.
turns castle or mountain collapsed
To be adventurers or play war games.
If there are street kids, I'm a kid from the fields.
And the technicality does not erase any odors
From working the land, nor especially the colors,
Evidence of eternal recurrence time.
And if I have the chance, I will scamper,
Maybe a fine deer or more simply,
A rabbit running zigzag,
Around these menhirs scattered plants!
September 2010
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