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woensdag 15 januari 2014

Poetic snapshots of a hillside country


I climb from the village, steep uphill with three tops in front
and the weather is nice winter sun, some high clouds
white watching me as I go gasping for breath
in a breath taking landscape of fields and farms
A landscape that may disappear in future
Is it not even any more as it was.


Fences hang loose before the meadows
Are they still in use or useless, no cattle behind,
just grass and weed, dry spots and wet pools,
trees and hedges bordering where maybe concrete,
houses will be build and strollers won’t be welcome anymore.


What is happening with too many,
overlooking the valley from the highest point of the first,
we are in fact; so many walk the same path,
but not today. I’m alone and not lonesome
as I like the way I go, the way my boots follow.


The wine-farm will be there, for always? I don’t know.
As long as there is money in grapes
As long as men fills Cristal glasses on high heels
it will survive, and grow and be green as an oasis
in men made world where wild is rare


More and more buildings as culture, are the ancients
like natural marks, and I ask myself:
Will this be the same for what we erect today?
Will cities of now survive as the Romans did?
Will what we leave be seen as heritage,
or will we be damned in a future that no-one can see?


Another winery in the valley before I cross the river,
and slowly up to the next hill
Do I wonder who will be waiting there for me,

or what?

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