On Mayhem: Roses of Auvillar, a poem

Auvillar, France is smothered in roses. They are everywhere, which for someone who adores flowers as much as I do is heavenly. The scent, the sudden bursts of multi-faceted color, and the silk of their petals against my skin like a kiss.

While sifting through some writing materials last night I found a notepad used to jot down images, thoughts, and sensory input as prescribed by our poetry workshop leader, Marilyn Kallet.

The following poem were scribbled hastily, and I suspect while walking uphill back into Auvillar Old Town.

Crushed rose petals
On cobblestones worn
by parading pilgrim feet
sun no shade
Sunday afternoon, late, in Auvillar