French on Fridays: After the Rain

I listened, as she told her son in French, "Here are your shoes." I lost the rest, focused on those few words I understood.

And each time I hear a French song, my mind picks out little things I've come to know... tomorrow, I love you, doll, don't leave me. I try to cherish moments of understanding, lose myself in the music, forget to be afraid of all I still don't know.

Today, the words of novelist Anthony Trollope echo my hopes for me and French. "A small daily task, if it be really daily, will beat the labors of a spasmodic Hercules." Yes, yes. I want this to be true. And so I whisper to my French, Tomorrow, I love you, doll, don't leave me.

Here is another phrase I am tucking away, part of my small daily task of study. I will keep it, to whisper as I need...

Après la pluie, le beau temps. After the rain, good weather.


Après la pluie,
le beau temps

After the rain,
après la pluie. After.
Après the weight of grey,
words that stray, slant,
sending swallows
(hirondelles) to hemlock
arms— sway,
spring, sway. After
the rain, après.
Le beau temps come.
Good weather hurries in,
on heels of wind. So
they say.

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