Each day apparently the same

The look rebounds on the slate and the chalk

The mountains form ‘wall’ around the valley which

Stretches and twists until it reaches Sumène.

Each day apparently the same

The echo of my regard sends back such a blow.

Sometimes hearing the cry of a buzzard I long to leave!

The world is behind the mountains

Or is it in front of me?

Am I lost to my life? Or to the world?

Am I in my life? Am I of this world?

Tanned face, worked by axe, wind and sun,

Cevènnes you entomb me and I have already died

died to live in you.

The shadows of the clouds at times show in your face

A thousand expressions which are more that all of life

For your beauty burns me  facing your solitude

my distress of life cries!

In front of the outpouring of the ‘Montagne de la Fage’

Where the sun breaks out of her scraggy chains

The giant shadow of cloud form, in front of the indecipherable sky

Two giant hands praying.

Each day apparently the same

But each day you sculpt my face

Always…always closer to your face.