It's the first day of autumn in the Sunny South. Some may soon be wearing long pants again, but only out of propriety, not necessity. It's swampy here today and will be for quite some time. Still, the shadows fall a little farther and vegetation's strangle hold on the land begins to decline. We wait for the reduction of humidity, not temperature. Once we can get up and look out windows free of condensation, we'll know it's fall.
Equinox. Mix equal parts of night and day. Then, the coming darkness and the concomitant interiority.
Autumn has always been my favorite season. I'm not sure how I am going to feel about it this year.
You might notice that I am not using any of my own photographs today. What? You thought I had taken these? Well no, but I sure like to try emulating them. But I haven't any photographs to show you today. Working in large format film really slows my production down. And suddenly, I'm very photo lazy. I did begin writing a sketch yesterday, however, while I sat waiting for my mother at physical therapy. I hope I finish it because I really like it so far. I wrote one true sentence, then another. And in a while, I had a whole string of true sentences. As Hemingway liked to say, it is a matter of what you choose to leave out. What he never spoke of that I recall is juxtaposition. That, I think, is the key to declarative (true) writing. It is all the placing of one thing against another. I think I've gotten good at that.
Maybe we'll see.
But I don't want to make promises that I'll never keep. It's best to keep some irons out of the fire.
Fire? Yes, it's autumn, and for many of you the fire pit is already offering comfort. It might be a while, but soon enough, I, too, will eat outside with a small blaze.
Perhaps. But then again. . . I must consider is mother.