Autumn in Everything

Took this photograph from the guest bedroom a couple of days ago; it signals the gradual entry of a favourite season; Autumn grows, Autumn in everything. In the cold nip in the darkness as I walk to go for an early swim and when I return an hour later; for the sunny but coooool inhospitality of the terrace; for the sudden need for a quick shot of heated radiators around 18.00. But, as this picture shows, the smiles of autumnal weather are warm indeed and glorious to receive. I'm busy retrieving gloves and boots and sweaters to exchange for the linens and the short-sleeved T shirts. Time to think 'quilted jackets' and scarves and put away summer fripperies. I look forward to Autumn in Brugge, never personally experienced before. Perhaps little difference from the UK but there must be local diversions and small disparities.

Walking near the Beguinage on Sunday, two days ago, with my son and his wife. we saw a majestic leaf turn flaming among a group of still verdant trees. And in my sitting room, voila, a splendid gourd from the local florist which cost all of two euros recently and which seems to contain all the colours and promise of this season. It reminds me of the friends who bought it for me as we walked wearily home, when I exclaimed with delight at the sight. So this is a gourd to herald cooler days and remind of warmer friendships.


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And, looking around the apartment, I saw an Autumnal display from the bright Chinese lanterns I bought a couple of weeks ago, and dried simply by hanging in the warm utility room. Plus, the plate of ripening Persimmon fruits just on the Brugge market. When this photo is on the computer screen, the foliage of the three trees beyond can be seen beginning to turn. Indeed, Autumn in everything, including the last two days' temperatures.

On Sunday, 18th October, this Sunday, the eighteen or so exhibits in the Triennale 2015 will be deemed to be over. A pity; I have enjoyed passing many of them, become almost part of the landscape, wondering at the philosophy of each; tourists have clearly been intrigued and entertained; many of the local residents have not appreciated these modern interlopers. I hear that the nuns in the Beguinage really don't like the dozen or so complicated tree houses perched high above the grass and the numerous visitors. One can see the abrupt interruption of modernity in the time-worn rhythms of the religious life and the incongruity of the little aerial houses [built without nails or screws not to harm the tree hosts] which no one can reach or enter, in direct contrast to the modest, traditional rows of Beguine cottages and the mediaeval architecture of the soaring church. Such things challenge and offend: strange houses out of reach to the passers-by, some of whom may be homeless, set among the beauty and the traditions of ecclesiastical retreat. The Japanese artist who designed and installed these little houses, was thinking of serenity, imagination, private spaces, private sanctuary.

Oh dear, still not published because of other things pressing. Now a week after it was begun so time to go!