There is a feeling which comes over me on autumn days - days with clear blue skies, cool breeze, puffy white clouds, warm sun on my face, soft light and lengthening shadows. A sort of an aching melanchology, a sense of loss or losing perhaps, something is slipping inexorably away. Is it a primeval understanding of the death of summer, the loss of warmth and sun, growth and the simple living of warmer seasons ? A sense of valuing the time I am within, a knowledge deep inside of the brevity of the seasons, the brevity of the moment. Is it a gift from a time before, when winter was indeed a primeval force to contend with, a commmunication with the plants and animals for which winter is a very real threat to survival, or a matter of growing to understand the Vallee d'Ossau where the seasons determine all activities.
Whatever the reason, I appreciate it on these glorious autumn days as a gift, a gift that helps me to appreciate the beauty of the moment.
I sit in the high Pyrenees with a gurgling stream beside me - pure, cold, clear, water running through mountain pastures shortened by the summer grazing, warm sun on my face, a light breeze through the valley. Purple crocuses carpet the glades along the stream, snow on the high peaks and soft white clouds in a blue, blue sky. This won't last forever, winter is fast approaching, but it is wonderful now.
We walk on the steep side of a valley with a stream running noisily at the bottom, terraced pastures across the valley, cow bells ringing. The steep mountainside is multicoloured with dark green pine, bright yellow birch, golden, brown and red beech, brown oak and the odd bright red of an unknown tree - (perhaps Ash), grey rocks and white peaks in the distance. As we move up the valley we can see the floor brown with leaves, a splash of silver water running through the middle. The bracken on the hillsides is brightly coloured - red, orange and yellow - a wide mass of colour against the blue as you look up. The sun drops and the light through the leaves is golden and soft, the air is cool and so, so crisp
1 comment:
En vivant avec le rythme des saisons nous sentons que rien n'est éternel, les moments heureux ne durent pas comme la lumière, la forme des nuages, la couleur des arbres.
Demain tout sera peut-être recouvert de neige, la lumière d'aujourd'hui ne sera plus jamais la même.
Je ne me rendais pas compte à quel point cette perception du temps qui nous échappe pouvait être aigue quand on vient d'un pays où les arbres sont toujours verts.
Magnifique texte.
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