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

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Love the trees until their leaves fall off, then encourage them to try again next year.

Image
 My boy Peppino: "I know the year is dying, Soon the summer will be dead. I can trace it in the flying Of the black crows overhead; I can hear it in the rustle Of the dead leaves as I pass, And the south wind's plaintive sighing Through the dry and withered grass. Ah, 'tis then I love to wander, Wander idly and alone, Listening to the solemn music Of sweet nature's undertone; Wrapt in thoughts I cannot utter, Dreams my tongue cannot express, Dreams that match the autumn's sadness In their longing tenderness." -  Mortimer Crane Brown, Autumn Dreams
Read more

It's all a farce, – these tales they tell About the breezes sighing, And moans astir o'er field and dell, Because the year is dying....

Image
 Three generation: Rufus, Peppino & Robinson: Yea, I have looked, and seen November there; The changeless seal of change it seemed to be, Fair death of things that, living once, were fair; Bright sign of loneliness too great for me, Strange image of the dread eternity, In whose void patience how can these have part, These outstretched feverish hands, this restless heart? William Morris, November So dark day & no pics.... So I'd like to put here some pics taken exactly a year ago.... when the world was again enough normal... Ready to print bloodhound free calendar 2021. Just download  & print:
Read more