That country where it is always late in the year*

by chuckofish

My car windows were all frosted up this morning and the drive to work was misty and cool. The leaves are just beginning to turn; Fall is here. I’m afraid the last couple weeks have passed by in a blur. The DH and I have been suffering from the dreaded lurgy (i.e. croaky voice, runny nose and cough — not Covid) and it has put a damper on our seasonal adventures. All I want to do is transport myself to a John Singer Sargent painting and languish on an autumn river.

Or sit wrapped up in muslin or silk and just stare into space.

I’d even be willing to shroud myself in a black mosquito net if it meant I could lie still for a while.

You’ll notice a theme here. It all looks so comfortable, so cozy and so, so quiet. Like Virginia Wolff, “I want someone to sit beside after the day’s pursuit and all its anguish, after its listening, and its waitings, and its suspicions. After quarrelling and reconciliation I need privacy – to be alone with you, to set this hubbub in order.” That is, in fact, what the DH and I do every evening, at least until I go into our family room to watch TV. We relax and attempt to recharge. I’m quite sure that’s what everyone else does too. Perhaps all we need is some time to look at JSS paintings of ladies reclining. What do you think?

Have a good weekend and good luck recharging!

*Ray Bradbury