October, 2015
by richibi
“October“ (1883)
_____
it’s the 3rd of October already, we’ve
slipped nearly imperceptibly, I’ve found,
into this new month, the days here are
crisp, if not cold, the leaves, not yet
fallen, are nevertheless bristling bright
orange, red, and gold, mustard, crimson,
and deep purple actually, in spotty
patches among the still prevalent greens
holding on determinedly to their extra
share of summer
nothing much more from me about this
otherwise unexceptional month, apart
from the introspection inherent in the
painting above, offered for your
contemplation
and this wonderful piece from Tchaikovsky’s
“The Seasons“, its “October: Autumn Song“,
including this epigraph of Tolstoy from its
first Russian edition
“Autumn, our poor garden is falling down,
the yellowed leaves are flying on the wind.”
for your rapture
Richard
psst:
today our building manager left a
chocolate on each of our doors
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