Shut, too, in a tower of words, I mark
On the horizon walking like the trees
The wordy shapes of women, and the rows
Of the star-gestured children in the park.
Some let me make you of the vowelled beeches,
Some of the oaken voices, from the roots
Of many a thorny shire tell you notes,
Some let me make you of the water’s speeches.
- Dylan Thomas, “Especially When the October Wind”, 1934
The sun hasn’t come out for days. Winter is here and it isn’t that cold, but the sky has been a neutral grey for almost two weeks. It’s great for photography (some types at least) but can be depressing.
At least yesterday and today were foggy which is the best type of dreary.
«Il tire les plans d’un système d’entrepôts dans lesquels seront conservés les traits les plus connus de chaque saison : l’odeur de pierre chaude de l’été ; le ciel grisâtre de l’automne ; la neige salie par les pieds des Parisiens ; les arbres en fleur.»
- “Incendie du Printemps,” Paul Poissel1
“He draws up a plan for a system of warehouses in which the best-known features of each season will be stored: the summer smell of hot stone, the fraying skies of autumn, the snow dirtied by Parisian feet, the trees in bloom.” - The Facts of Winter, “Burning of Spring”, Paul Poissel ↩