automne malade

Automne malade et adoré.  It’s the first line of a poem I love. Apollinaire describes autumn as “sick and loved,” lonely and liminal. He writes: “how I love this season, its murmurs; the fruits that fall with no one to gather them; the wind and the forest crying all their tears in autumn, leaf by leaf” (my loose translation/interpretation) Every year I have lived in a place … Continue reading automne malade