In The Lanes Of Toulouse

I left the mountains

and disappeared from view

Floating away like the low hanging mist of clouds

I disembarked in the lanes of Toulouse

the autumnal rain arriving early, in August

grey skies, outside the imposing Capitolum

lingering with the pigeons, street hawkers, buskers and weekenders

Sunday strollers denote another world

of purpose, as lackluster as can be

happiness, willed and strangled

I wait for inspiration

My next destination still a mystery, still open for direction

A clue in the air

the scent of a distant land

I have an ache for Arabic streets, Indian alleyways, hot sweltering travel

that offers discomfort and a lesson at every corner

I would lose sweat, I would lose the layers that conflict me

and be left with an outpouring of love for all beings

all unique and One

My mind tells me this

while it attempts to piece together my future

Rain drops from the skies above

back, in the present

Time to move on

find lunch, find refuge

find the next destination

Toulouse, France // 09”08”15


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