In among the lavender
Weeding - faisant le desherbage
Pull back the stems
Hoe the soil and pull out the roots
My arms are scratched from the lavender plants
But the fragrance on my scaped forearms
Is pure essence of le Sud
Even months before they flower
The lavender is sweet perfume
I take a break to the side of the row
Borage and olive trees around me
Sip from my water bottle
Not quite cold anymore on this hot humid day
The Mediterranean just a few miles away
I take off my shoes
Empty out the dry red soil
Along with a snail shell.
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