'A word is dead when it is said, some say. I say it just begins to live that day' ~ Emily Dickinson
Peeling paintwork on an 18th century house in Gruissan, France -
permanent yet always changing
It doesn't last long and is not with me every day but I am conscious of it. I do my best to embrace this season of harvest and its offer of bountiful gifts; to take comfort in the rich russet and golden colours of nature and allow myself to sigh with relief at the general winding down of the gardening season. Mostly though, I feel the shifting nature of time. The dark mornings and soon to be even darker evenings. The shortening of the days and the lack of sunlight. A feeling of loss.
In Loving Memory of my father William
21 June 1921
8 October 2004