...I cannot endure to waste anything so precious as autumnal sunshine by staying in the house. So I have spent almost all the daylight hours in the open air.
Nathaniel Hawthorne, 10th October 1842And so
a walk outside...
The leaves have turned
the berries are out
coppery shades of autumn
mingle with the lush greens of Provence and...
Pomegranates!
Matin d'Octobre
C'est l'heure exquise et
matinale
Que rougit un soleil soudain.
A travers la brume automnale
Tombent les feuilles du jardin.
Leur chute est lente. Ou peut les suivre
Du regard en reconnaissant
Le chêne à sa feuille de cuivre,
L'érable à sa feuille de sang.
Les dernières, les plus rouillées,
Tombent des branches dépouillées :
Mais ce n'est pas l'hiver encor.
Une blonde lumière arrose
La nature, et, dans l'air tout rose,
On croirait qu'il neige de l'or.
Que rougit un soleil soudain.
A travers la brume automnale
Tombent les feuilles du jardin.
Leur chute est lente. Ou peut les suivre
Du regard en reconnaissant
Le chêne à sa feuille de cuivre,
L'érable à sa feuille de sang.
Les dernières, les plus rouillées,
Tombent des branches dépouillées :
Mais ce n'est pas l'hiver encor.
Une blonde lumière arrose
La nature, et, dans l'air tout rose,
On croirait qu'il neige de l'or.
by François Edouard Joachim Coppée (1842-1908)
October morning
It is that exquisite morning hour
Reddened by a sudden sun.
Through the autumn fog
The garden's leaves fall.
Their fall is slow. One can follow them
With one's gaze, recognizing
The oak by its leaf of copper,
The maple by its leaf of blood.
The last, the rustiest,
Fall from stripped branches,
But it is not yet winter...
A blonde light saturates
Nature, and, in the rose-coloured air,
You would think it was snowing gold.
October morning
It is that exquisite morning hour
Reddened by a sudden sun.
Through the autumn fog
The garden's leaves fall.
Their fall is slow. One can follow them
With one's gaze, recognizing
The oak by its leaf of copper,
The maple by its leaf of blood.
The last, the rustiest,
Fall from stripped branches,
But it is not yet winter...
A blonde light saturates
Nature, and, in the rose-coloured air,
You would think it was snowing gold.
