Wednesday, October 26, 2005

melancholy

vines

I am bathing in the colours of melancholy at the foot of the Ventoux; swatches of the fall of the summer weeds and a walk into nakedness.

I am taking coffee outside. My eye wanders along a tangerine lake to it’s spinach shore, two lime puffs stand sentinel. An orchard’s tree-tips have been dipped in cerise. The crisp parchment of the vine leaves clap …

I go away for a week; a week of electric lights, Mozart symphonies and packing. I wake up from an afternoon nap in Lyon and gather my concert clothes. I arrive at the gig with my see-through Cotélac rag and, instead of the black strappy number that goes underneath it I have dozily hauled out two pairs of black knickers. (One for each breast?) Luckily a colleague helps me out.

ventoux1

I return home. The lime trees are the colour of custard, the fire in the cherry orchard is raging, the lake is burnished pumpkin and surrounded by pease pudding.

Tomorrow I leave again. I left my Camper concert shoes in a bar in La Rochelle and luckily my black suede birkies arrived in the post just in time. What will I lose this week?

Four days in which the custard could turn, the pumpkin become friable and the pease pudding blanche…..

Every colourful day counts.

vines2

3 Comments:

Blogger MB said...

Lovely colors, lovely description. Don't blink!

I found Lavazza, by the way. There it was, right there on the shelf, but eclipsed by the clamor of a plethora of daily regional roasts. I'll give it a try, and think of you two while I do! :-)

7:37 PM  
Blogger Mary said...

I think that, more than any other season, autumn can induce a sense of urgency to seize each day and wring every last sight and smell out of it. Time passes all too quickly at this time of year, and your post echoes that feeling.

The photographs are beautiful.

Wishing you a good and happy time on tour.

10:59 PM  
Anonymous roger said...

is that frost?

9:13 PM  

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