Beautiful images and impressions of a season I call my own...a child of October. It took me a minute to realize that where you are, May is autumnal. Autumn as "revelation", an "unfurling". I hadn't thought of it that way, but it rings true now that I have. Mostly it's the light of the golden season that I think of.
Whether at the sea, or city, or in this little valley - it's the light that moves me...and I can't put that in my
pocket. Luckily though, I can still remember those places, gauzy and faraway as they may be, and the
way the light glistened across a cold Atlantic Ocean on a clear November day, or a dappled treelined
street in Manhattan, or a late autumn afternoon sun lighting the tops of the trees on the eastern hillside
of this little holler. Melancholy approaches, then softens to a sigh as I live another day.
Thank you for bringing some of that glorious season to mind and the reminder to delight in it all.
Ah, if I must choose, then winter is closest to my heart. And Autumn is the prelude to winter . As with each season, I can speak of endless joy from the archives of my memory. So many beautiful passages you’ve given us. Especially the last few .If you don’t mind I have taken bits and pieces of your beauty , solely to answer this question. ( I would never have done this if it were a poem)“What do we do when we are dying”
Just for myself , to remember at the very end. So someday when it comes my time I will hope with all my heart and joyful memories, this is how I’ll go~ “…it is the way that autumn air seems to accumulate around my body in a deep, dreamy silence, soft and dense like powder,” And I’ll remember this
too ~“ …that all of this light is just loss explaining itself through a series of colours”
And I’ll take with me ~“…colours flaming a thousandfold into light”
Thank you for that.
Van Gogh , what a glorious tree. I have never seen this particular painting before. Obviously he knew trees and felt the spirit of this one dancing free in the wind and reaching to the heavens .I sincerely thank you for all . And for introducing me to The Mulberry Tree in Autumn.
My dark layers are still part of me, the essence of intimacy and innocence. I know how Autumn has a tingle down my angular body to my size 13 feet. I feel as though Autumn and Springtime are kindred sisters. Ones that share the secrets of the high seasons. This particular post had me contemplating the idea of death. . How the sway of Autumn trees are a harbinger of things to come. I haven’t written as much poetry so far. My state is elsewhere. I turn fifty years old on Wednesday. My own mortality is at stake. Thanks for this delicate reminder that we are drawn to the darkness as much as the lightness of each new day.
much of this lingers on the edge of things i’ve been considering myself lately… this was lovely and comforting to read
Anne Hyde Greet, OMG. I love her translation of "Alcools." She got me started as a translator.
Autumn has always been my favorite season—it’s months away but worth the wait. Thank you for the view from your side of the world.
I've only read half but I already feel like I'm in a dream.
this makes me want to be in autumn ♥️ going to think about true colours... thank you. ♥️♥️♥️
This is all so, so beautiful, and exactly what I needed to read today. Thank you 🍂
Beautiful images and impressions of a season I call my own...a child of October. It took me a minute to realize that where you are, May is autumnal. Autumn as "revelation", an "unfurling". I hadn't thought of it that way, but it rings true now that I have. Mostly it's the light of the golden season that I think of.
Whether at the sea, or city, or in this little valley - it's the light that moves me...and I can't put that in my
pocket. Luckily though, I can still remember those places, gauzy and faraway as they may be, and the
way the light glistened across a cold Atlantic Ocean on a clear November day, or a dappled treelined
street in Manhattan, or a late autumn afternoon sun lighting the tops of the trees on the eastern hillside
of this little holler. Melancholy approaches, then softens to a sigh as I live another day.
Thank you for bringing some of that glorious season to mind and the reminder to delight in it all.
I love the generosity of autumn--the way everything is giving something of itself back to the earth.
"...and you will tell yourself then, in that final floating, that you love all of what you are..."
Ah, if I must choose, then winter is closest to my heart. And Autumn is the prelude to winter . As with each season, I can speak of endless joy from the archives of my memory. So many beautiful passages you’ve given us. Especially the last few .If you don’t mind I have taken bits and pieces of your beauty , solely to answer this question. ( I would never have done this if it were a poem)“What do we do when we are dying”
Just for myself , to remember at the very end. So someday when it comes my time I will hope with all my heart and joyful memories, this is how I’ll go~ “…it is the way that autumn air seems to accumulate around my body in a deep, dreamy silence, soft and dense like powder,” And I’ll remember this
too ~“ …that all of this light is just loss explaining itself through a series of colours”
And I’ll take with me ~“…colours flaming a thousandfold into light”
Thank you for that.
Van Gogh , what a glorious tree. I have never seen this particular painting before. Obviously he knew trees and felt the spirit of this one dancing free in the wind and reaching to the heavens .I sincerely thank you for all . And for introducing me to The Mulberry Tree in Autumn.
So generous. As always. Thank you. You are special to us.
My dark layers are still part of me, the essence of intimacy and innocence. I know how Autumn has a tingle down my angular body to my size 13 feet. I feel as though Autumn and Springtime are kindred sisters. Ones that share the secrets of the high seasons. This particular post had me contemplating the idea of death. . How the sway of Autumn trees are a harbinger of things to come. I haven’t written as much poetry so far. My state is elsewhere. I turn fifty years old on Wednesday. My own mortality is at stake. Thanks for this delicate reminder that we are drawn to the darkness as much as the lightness of each new day.