finding nemo

this golden view greeted me at half past eight this morning when i arrived at work. if i'm lucky, i'll be treated to a similar glory tomorrow, but then at half past seven, since the clocks FALL backward* during tonight.
if tomorrow morning does dawn dramatic, i will see it from the early boat to harwich, as we're off to london for a couple of days.
this sunrise is for the meantime: i won't be home till thursday.
please have a happy hallowe'en, and an excellent week:
i will, too.

*daylight savings always used to confuse me, until i nestled the "FALL backward, SPRING forward" into my illogical mind.

as dance it can

she is not captive; nor is she crippled.
this lonely pirouette is a feat of determination and nimbleness - she insists - and this gossamer a sanctuary that suspends her, in a gentle spin, somewhere between flourishing and falling.
she will surrender, because she has been surrendered, but she will take her stubborn time in tumbling, and spite her brittle fate.

a moveable feast

"well", said rachel, as the train trundled homeward (it only topspeeds while it's in france), "any idea what you'll be posting?"
i considered the images i'd gathered over the splendid weekend, and shook my head ruefully.
just as 48 hours is much too short to do justice to a city like paris, a pageful of pictures and words is too confined to communicate the beauty and the brightness that blessed the two brim-full days we spent there.
however would i choose...



between the minor miracle of warm blue skies and cottonball clouds, which allowed us to roam coatless and sun-spectacled...

and something perennially parisian...

and one of the peculiarities that had us stretching and stooping and attracting bemused attention from passers-by?

maybe the innovative soaring structures at la défense...

or the unique delights of the metro system?

but then there's my acknowledged weakness for café tables and chairs...
and...
and....
i couldn't decide.
so i didn't: these are a random few, with sincere apologies for the length of the entry.
i suppose i should look into a gallery option...n'est-ce pas?

unfettered and alive

this time tomorrow, rachel and i will be railing our way toward paris, toward a balmy (we hope) and beautiful (likewise) weekend away, filled with good food, good conversation, and hopefully some good photos too.
fingers crossed for fineness...
vive la france.
vive l'amitié.

curtain call

perhaps it was the dull and white-skied october day itself that pushed these reticent patches of colour onto center stage, where they bowed gracefully, blushed, and accepted the applause, the accolades, and the appreciative click of cameras.

*for i-gizmo: red.

like string and brown paper

days dim, and leaves let reluctantly go, but little says "autumn" to me as clearly as the unmistakable conclusion of sidewalk-café season.

i'll be meeting an old friend - er, acquaintance - saturday evening for dinner and my gloved fingers will be firmly crossed for a table at the back of the restaurant, as far away from the fall draughts and the chill as possible.

half a step away

it's not that i'm not adventurous, mind, but vacations like my husband's - backpacking alone through china for six long weeks last may, for example - are not my idea of rest and relaxation.
i see myself, i guess, as a bits-and-pieces traveler.
there was that wedding in madrid in june, and antwerp (these golden gables!)
was a september delight. in a dozen days - i'm counting them impatiently - rachel and i will hop onto the thalys for an autumn weekend in paris; november will see me in wimbledon, and london, for a few days visiting my wonderful friends ceri and richard.
"i suppose i'm more of a city-hopper", i mused at the dinner table tonight.
my daughter nearly choked on her garlicky potato.
"yeah. well. okay. maybe not yet", i admitted.
"but i'm getting there."

that rainbow again

"every cloud has its silver lining but it is sometimes a little difficult to get it to the mint."
- donald r. perry marquis (american writer and columnist, 1878-1937)

if this little country weren't so utterly flat, the view wouldn't go on for miles and miles, and the sky wouldn't seem so endless.
and if this endless sky weren't so utterly grey and damp, the fields would not be this glorious day-glo green.
sometimes i fear i will never adapt. mostly, i know i did long ago.

i had some dreams

he clasps his cup in ungainly hands, and watches her stir. sugar dissolves; creamy clouds disperse, like fragile affection, like fantasy.
suddenly, it seems, he sees only obligation, and his heart hardens, and his shoulders stiffen, and his pale blue eyes concede that their imperfect affinity has faded, simply, into the august air.

if these walls could speak

this has the elements of an amsterdam still life - a bicycle, a red brick wall, a tall window, a scrawl of graffiti - but is clearly, undefinably (at least to me) not dutch. i suppose it has something to do with use of colour and state of repair; the romantic in me, however, prefers to ponder the intrinsic spirit of age-old stone and shingle.
i spent the last couple of days in antwerp, you see, and wondered - as i did a few months back - at how faraway a city just a few hours from home can feel.