October was always the least dependable of months ... full of ghosts and shadows.

 My girl Brunhilda:


Then in October, Indian Summer, the air turned so soft, the sunlight so fragile, and each day's loveliness so poignantly doomed that even self-ignorance and restlessness felt like profound states of being, and he just wandered the empty beaches and misty headlands in a state of serene confusion and awe.














































































































Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Listen! the wind is rising, and the air is wild with leaves, We have had our summer evenings, now for October eves!