Carnival Day – Haibun Thinking

AnElephantCant contemplate his life here
Without the pleasures of eating and drinking
So he continues to scribble
About all sorts of nibbles
And posts it here on his blog but not Haibun Thinking

In the face of mounting indifference, AnElephant decides to continue his one-pachyderm assault on the elegant genre of Haibun.

Medville Cafe by AnElephantCant

Carnival Day in Medville
It is carnival Sunday in Medville.
February 16^th and the sky is cloudless.He invites his friend Emmy to a Portuguese lunch at his favourite café, where his reserved table in the sunshine has a single word on the card.
Ecrivain.
Writer.
She mocks him gently; he smiles, unperturbed that almost no one knows his name.
They eat enormous helpings of chicken, Portuguese style, with salad and frites, accompanied by a pichet of rosé.
And then, almost uniquely for him, dessert and, of course, coffee.
Lunch is delicious, and lasts around three hours.
He watches the traffic on the roundabout.
Barricades have been put up at certain points to allow free movement for the parade.
His grin grows wider.
One of life’s great joys is watching a French policeman direct traffic, he remarks.
One of life’s great joys is discerning between sarcasm and fact, she replies, laughing.
Look, he says, now this guy has parked his boat there, they are overtaking it on both sides.
And, indeed, a car towing a boat on a trailer has stopped, pretty much blocking the whole road.
But, this being France, the other drivers philosophically mount the pavements and the roundabout itself and just carry on.
Where is the policeman, she asks.
Talking to the pretty lady on the bicycle.
Hard to blame him, she looks much more interesting than a traffic jam!
After lunch they wander through the village taking photographs of the colourful floats and marching bands.

mimosa-bedecked carriages
children throwing confetti
a sky of Mediterranean blue

Medville Parade by AnElephantCant

They squeeze through between parked motorbikes and something – or someone? – causes an alarm to sound loudly.
He realises that it is a police motorcycle, parked outside the police station.
They stand for maybe fifteen minutes, admiring the dancing girls, strutting robots and steel bands, while the alarm wails plaintively.
No one appears to investigate.
Perhaps there are many more pretty ladies on bicycles in town.

la vie est tranquille
quand on habite
un petit coin de paradis

tranquillity of soul
is more achievable
when you live in Paradise