Meeting Van Gogh

Meeting Van Gogh…sonnet the wheat-field, blond as a Volga German milk maid, heat intense and in the shade of a demanding olive tree I saw grumpy Van Gogh, glaring at me intruding on his painting. “Sorry for the scooter it is electric blue and doesn’t fit in, pretend it is a donkey free of its leather harness.” The vines, deep green leaves and fertile soil, soon there would be grapes, mostly dark cerulean, an army of wine to come tempting souls into surrender… liquid pleasures; and the narrow road snakes amongst fields like a black mamba hunting grey rabbits in the meadow. I have the afternoon sun in my eyes, a cooling breeze on my back; and then I drive off the road fall amongst thistle and thorns and the spell is broken, look around but only Van Gogh witnessed my disgrace.