Autumn Brings Inspiration

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Portrait of John Talbot, later 1st Earl Talbot; Pompeo Batoni, Italian (Lucchese), 1708 - 1787; Italy, Europe; 1773; Oil on canvas; Unframed: 274.3 x 182.2 cm (108 x 71 3/4 in.), Framed: 301 x 209.9 x 10.8 cm (118 1/2 x 82 5/8 x 4 1/4 in.); 78.PA.211
Portrait of John Talbot, later 1st Earl Talbot; Pompeo Batoni, Italian (Lucchese), 1708 – 1787; Italy, Europe; 1773; Oil on canvas; Unframed: 274.3 x 182.2 cm (108 x 71 3/4 in.), Framed: 301 x 209.9 x 10.8 cm (118 1/2 x 82 5/8 x 4 1/4 in.); 78.PA.211

 

Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire!
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon’s sphere;
And I serve the Fairy Queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green;
The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours;
In those freckles live their savours;
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear.
William Shakespeare

autumn has sailed in this year like a luxury yacht. I have been afloat all season and barely knew we were moving. Pumpkins, harvest, fall, golden, changing, pumpkins, squash, sweaters, corduroy. Along with these returning symbols of my life, I am reminded also by my nature that the 3rd quarter shift every year signals internal reminders of this cycle of life. I make changes at this time of year. I’d like to frame it as “I grow every year”

there is a part of me that is so driven by impulse I can rarely notice when I genuflect via autopilot. I leap and then I reflect. It seems others ponder before they make a move. I can’t imagine what that’s like. To make it stickier, I judge my nature as immature and spend a good deal of time feeling badly about how I am. I forget that I do not endure hypocracy and toxicity for very long as my more mature counterparts do.

This song played on my apple shuffle the other day and I swooned. Paolo remains a source of inspiration for me.

“Autumn”

Autumn leaves under frozen souls,
Hungry hands turning soft and old,
My hero cried as we stood out there in the cold,
Like these autumn leaves I don’t have nothing to hold.

Handsome smile, wearing handsome shoes,
Too young to say, though I swear he knew,
And I hear him singing while he sits there in his chair,
While these autumn leaves float around everywhere.

And I look at you, and I see me,
Making noise so restlessly,
But now it’s quiet and I can hear you saying,
‘My little fish don’t cry, my little fish don’t cry.’

Autumn leaves have faded now,
That smile I lost, well I’ve found somehow,
Because you still live on in my father’s eyes,
These autumn leaves, all these autumn leaves, all these autumn leaves are yours tonight.

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