l’automne

William Shakespeare  – Sonnet 73, First Quatrain

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang …

Sums up autumn pretty much for me …

nostalgie

heart2

Nostalgia for summers lost 

August on the wane

fall nibbles at its warmth

 

on the radio a haunting melody

of shipwrecks and disasters

behind me hazy outlines

lazy days of beer and sunshine

faded photos,  faces meld as one

on the outskirts of the city

geometry of campus skyline

impersonal space, hard edges, logic

wipe my mind clean

burningtree

“You can’t hide your true colours as you reach the autumn of your life.” True.

“At no other time (than autumn) does the earth let itself be inhaled in one smell, the ripe earth; in a smell that is in no way inferior to the smell of the sea, bitter where it borders on taste, and more honeysweet where you feel it touching the first sounds. Containing depth within itself, darkness, something of the grave almost.”  ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

Nostalgia