James is here to remind me of my
original nature. Singing is the same.
Being fine, holding to goodness so much
as to be divinely touched, adored at the
door where we came in.
Four-thirty at Chavenay. I resume my
way, my seventh stay on the road to the
east. I walk for simplicity, to empty out,
to come about with my sails, to reflect, as
a boy, the original joy of spring.
Moral tone, moral fiber, word of honor,
pitch ring true.
Here I walk. Free. In authenticity.
Alive to the ages of man, to the moon on the
tide, the original spin - France's rolling
waves of what has been... I'm going back
to Junior High, to innocence, to see my son
Written walking through France May 2001
20 miles west of Paris
@ Arthur Garfunkel
Used by Permission of Author. All Rights Reserved.