In the Green

Overlooking the seagulls on the golf course in the South of France where I was staying after a friend's wedding.

Sandy beaches of Saint Marte were kept by its white-winged groundskeeper. Surprisingly he preferred to walk his keep, thread the soft sawn threads with flappy flat feet. Three water basins mirrored the greenery of the south but turned sunflower golden as you passed their rocky edges.

This kingdom small lay surrounded by a forest wall, so tall for mountains to crawl in jealousy. The meticulous care-for beauty suffered from one thing only. It existed to be used, played with, and hit on like a woman of the night.