Thursday, October 27, 2022


Visitors and migrants tell us they mis the Fall. "Oh, the Autumn colours back East", they say, "truly a sight to behold". Then they start weeping into their beer. Which, probably, reminded them, because beer is golden, and smells of ferments. I too like the bronze and yellow hues prevalent when the weather turn cold, but here it's more subtle, and doesn't hit you over the head, clobbering your eyes with intensity. Instead, variations on umber and yellow ochre.
Muted washes and a golden glaze, rather than bold impasto and deep sienna pools.
Softer shadings, not so much dark shadow.

It also lasts longer. By the end of December the gingko leaves will start turning, on Clay Street at the top of the hill and Pacific Avenue outside the projects, below Grant, drifts will briefly gather before city cleaning sweeps the litter.

Very lovely.
Meanwhile, here's somewhere in the Apalachian range, or West Virginia slash Vermont, to help you weep into your warm breakfast beer. Blobs, dots, and smears.

Now go out there and pooh your dog. Your little French Bull is wide awake, full of beans (or something), and doesn't get moistly emotional over scenery elsewhere.

I could say something snarky, but I don't want to upset you.
It's far too early in the season for that.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.

No comments:

Search This Blog


Dawn came surprisingly soon. That is to say, normally I sleep a little late on Wednesdays due to intemperate behaviours the night before -- ...