French Sentences

My fellow Muser, Kathy, is in the next room playing a game she calls "French sentences": concocting seventeen-syllable haiku about her experiences in France--a little exercise to get her poetic energies flowing. 

It sounds like fun on this lazy, post-French-lunch Sunday afternoon, so I'll give it a try:

Traversing the forest in the rain, I arrive home cold and happy.


Loaded brush poised over a blank page; maybe I should go for a walk.


We toss the empty bottles and climb the slanting stairs to our cold beds.

Send me your French sentences here.

Cubserviès

This afternoon, during a rain break, I headed off for a hike with a fellow Muser, poet Katharine Whitcomb. Our destination was Cubserviès, a tiny hamlet clinging to the mountain rock. When we were halfway there, it began to rain. Then it poured. By the time we arrived, we were soaked. But, drenched and cold as we were, we ran through the hamlet and exclaimed over the views, including the Cascade de Cubserviès, one of France's lesser-known ("secret") waterfalls. 

Take a peek at Katharine's blog "Poetry Is Cool."