Morning drive in Provence

It’s the middle of a French winter,
Yet it doesn’t feel that cold at all!
Below ambient but no sub-zero climate,
Grey skies giving way to a bright day,
As I began my early morning commute,
Driving past the most magnificent terrain,
Through hectares of desolate farmland,
Only filled by mediterranean gull flocks,
Amazingly white in the chilling mist,
A few horses stood still in the meadow,
Seemingly not knowing what to do next,
Then mile after mile of naked fruit trees,
Weathered peach, apple and vineyards,
Which for now look like lifeless twigs,
Wait and see them soon spring to life,
Turned a corner as I started to climb,
A path that snaked up to the summit,
Beautifully carved into the rocky hillside,
Offering remarkable views of yonder valleys,
One terrifying moment as the engine cut off,
Dead midway up a steep incline,
Only to restart after a few scary slides,
Be wary of drivers devoid of patience,
Defying logic and disregarding road signs,
As they sped past on a blind corner,
Alas for the approaching innocent souls,
Harshly pushed right onto the cliff edge,
Imagine their technical rushed-driving language?
It is a long way falling down the slope!
Into that bottomless ditch beneath,
But who cares, life’s short anyway!
As the road drops into a picturesque town,
Illuminated by the watery morning light,
It forms the spine of this little village,
Always a congested narrow thoroughfare,
The journey grinded to a near standstill,
Half of the time condemned to a few yards,
Draw a deep breath and slowly enjoy,
The moment, the view, the serenity!
Besides, where are you rushing to?
Relax, you are already in Provence!

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