I wrote this in France in October 2006. For a bit of background, the past three houses Mr Moi and I have lived in have all been on main roads. Kyiv included.
We found a gite in Loumarin
and soon we found our hearing strained
over the noise of motorbikes.
And panel vans, and trucks and cars,
all zooming to the mountain pass
beyond our peaceful rural gite.
Sunday is the noisiest day:
a weekend on the tourist way.
A playground for eight cylinders.
But as traffic is our destiny
it doesn’t really bother me,
the noise of people moving.
It seems to me they’re having fun,
they’re not threatening anyone.
They’re driving through Provence.