Reading this bubbled up this idea that the last of's...the last river swim of the summer, the last hike of the season, the last sauna of a retreat...being a container for all those that came before. It becomes a way of holding the collective memory and feeling of all of the swims and all of the steps and views and lunches of a hike and all of the days on retreat in one place.
In the same way, the first of's holds the possibility of what's to come.
And in all of it, it's the thread of being her now - in the first of's the last of's and all that's in between - that makes any of it matter.
Beautiful, Anna. There is this longing I feel at the end of summer, a kind of nostalgia. It’s not that I want summer to stay. I don’t. I don’t need the intense long light all year; if I did, I would live elsewhere. Perhaps this sadness comes from knowing I’ll be separated more from the glorious outside where I virtually live in summer. I’ll be more cut off from the herons and osprey, flying, crying or squawking, hunting, or holding still. My beautiful plants of summer-the tender, fragrant roses and lavender, the acrid sweetness of tomato plants-all of that I must leave. For awhile. Sometimes it’s hard to let go. I’m gathering dry seed pods from my sweet peas and poppies, planning an orgy of blooms next year. A good vision!
Sounds like an AMAZING place. I know what you mean about trying to capture a place. We just got back from 15 day biking tour in the Netherlands - a magical place indeed.
Catching up on this previous writing, Anna - so beautiful, I resonated with the feelings you evoked of trying to capture a moment, place and time. Thank you for your beautiful writing!
Reading this bubbled up this idea that the last of's...the last river swim of the summer, the last hike of the season, the last sauna of a retreat...being a container for all those that came before. It becomes a way of holding the collective memory and feeling of all of the swims and all of the steps and views and lunches of a hike and all of the days on retreat in one place.
In the same way, the first of's holds the possibility of what's to come.
And in all of it, it's the thread of being her now - in the first of's the last of's and all that's in between - that makes any of it matter.
And I would loooove to paint one of your beach and sea urchin scenes! Echinodermata! So elegantly symmetrical!
Beautiful, Anna. There is this longing I feel at the end of summer, a kind of nostalgia. It’s not that I want summer to stay. I don’t. I don’t need the intense long light all year; if I did, I would live elsewhere. Perhaps this sadness comes from knowing I’ll be separated more from the glorious outside where I virtually live in summer. I’ll be more cut off from the herons and osprey, flying, crying or squawking, hunting, or holding still. My beautiful plants of summer-the tender, fragrant roses and lavender, the acrid sweetness of tomato plants-all of that I must leave. For awhile. Sometimes it’s hard to let go. I’m gathering dry seed pods from my sweet peas and poppies, planning an orgy of blooms next year. A good vision!
Sounds like an AMAZING place. I know what you mean about trying to capture a place. We just got back from 15 day biking tour in the Netherlands - a magical place indeed.
Catching up on this previous writing, Anna - so beautiful, I resonated with the feelings you evoked of trying to capture a moment, place and time. Thank you for your beautiful writing!