The Colors of the Gers - A Poem

I am convinced the maker of
That box of sixty-four
Crayons that I loved so as a child
Had spent some time in Southwest France
And noticed for himself
The myriad of colors - tame and wild

I never knew that there could be
So many shades of green
Oak and laurel, cyprus, birch and pine
Moss and cactus, yucca, palm
Winter wheat and grass
The dainty leaves that dance upon the vine

And then there are the other varied
Crayons in that box
The artist's palette - every shade and hue
The colors of the rainbow there
And every shade between
Pink and yellow, violet, red and blue

The deep blue of the mountain sky
Pink blossoms on the trees
The yellow daffodils which welcome Spring
The golden stones of farms and barns
The wispy clouds at dusk
In shades of rose, the hawks upon the wing

What color would you give to frost
Which sparkles on the trees
And makes the spider's web appear like lace
Or how about the water in the
Ponds which fill in Spring
With shades of blue and green upon the face

I walk along the country lanes
And wonder at the views
Of nature in this region I adore
The colors of the Gers are bright
The shades are dipped in Time
Memorialized in poetry and lore

I am just one more pilgrim on these
Paths in woodlands old
Who gazes on these colors - tame and wild
And feels so small surrounded by
The pull of Life so vast
And once again I am that little child

Colors of the Fall

Colors of the Mountains

Colors of a Vineyard

The golden stone and the blue blue sky

The artist's palette of colors