It’s winter’s eve, the last day of autumn.
Winter’s eve and the Christmas tree was bought and decorated today.
Winter’s eve and a new baby was born in the village last night.
Winter’s eve and the close of my first full season back in France, a new chapter of life in many ways.
Winter’s eve I’m feeling the weight of time around me, around people I love.
Time... an instance, a pattern, and the indefinite continued progress through existence.
Seasons... one way we figure and observe time passing before us.
Autumn... the season when crops are gathered and leaves fall. The season after the long days of warm summer and the season before winter’s rest.
“... Unless a seed of grain goes into the earth and dies, it is still a seed and no more; but through its death it gives much fruit...”
Seeds must die to continue living...
The Earth must settle itself slowly into winter’s rest...
What begins as a lively and active time of harvest becomes a spectacle of color, dancing itself slowly to sleep. Autumn Dances... Danses d’Automne. I think this is what the project will be called.
Thank you, whoever you are, for reading. Thanks for letting me ramble about these Autumn pieces. There’s still so much to discover and write about. One piece in particular, Danses d’Automne by Bernard Andres, is going to wait a few months to appear in the blog, as I am planning to meet him and play this piece for him for his feedback and insight in the coming months. So excited!
The ideas keep coming, of which I’m glad.
But for now, Autumn is slipping to sleep.