Another book! just published my five ebook on stories of France and Spain. My style is not everyone's favourite, so I present to you a little sample, A Trouser Ecology, about the Marques (or ranch Resistance) of Drome.
In the morning, there are soft showers, cold cascades and ice, born on Venterol's sleeping slopes. Within hair's breathe of my cold weapon, I reach for my wife, breath of hair, a back to stroke - cheek of the Marque - only soil and single blanket nestling with me. Armpit reality, a whiff of shiftiness, brotherly air; when the microscopic invades your scalp, and Nazis your land, all shall itch. Brothers call for action, and leaders for patience.
We hid the refugee, the airmen and escapee; learning regimen and drill, pushing will up hills to cache and carry. Our legs bear us along our Baronnies path, driving my trousers to the world's end, blending with the local ecology, seeing wild boar take secret notes from the hillside tussock, trousers and I climbing, following the path of Free France of the farm, hoe and rifle, plough and gun, ready for some-day-soon. The years shall drive Nazi's ragged.
We are men and womenfolk of the trouser ecology, going where the enemy dare not, looking over the embittered valley, our doctor harassed and shot, teachers beaten before roses, our men conscripted to German factories, bloody oath. Fondly we look to Venterol and Valreas, the mighty Rhone groaning that liberation is borne of worn trousers and dirty socks. We have the upland of soiled reality, watershed before my eyes, lashes entangled in sleepy pining, swamp aromatics, upright nipples, forehead making the Alamo, spectacles of our selves, neckerchief surrounding me, imagining two Nostradamuses coughing and spluttering the future, their easy metaphor and empty promise a curse on tillers of soil. With only blades of grass, free peoples are made of standing tall.
In the presence of our trouser ecology, our leader speak of the springs that well beneath our shoes, that flow from the hills and into the valley, nurturing all the fruits of liberty. We farmers forbid optimism, the grace to fine words my offspring toes wiggling, knees a wildlife refuge, inner thighs full of gorillas and toads, stomach rapt in rags. Itchiness is spiky time, all of us thinking some-day soon, some-day-soon, my trousers bearing the years, as interlude to victory.
Pilgrimage 5 is found at https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/355453 It's only US$1.99, PDF recommended.