Last days of autumn

The long sunny days gradually faded away.

The cold light has succeeded. Gone is the warm, golden light of the last summer day.

The plains and forests, the meadows and hills, the parks and gardens are covered with a perfect gradient.

After the mist, red, orange and brown triumph.

In the slightly aged, majestic granite city, the architecture catches my attention.

The dark gray walls smell of wet stone.

Brazen wheels slide over puddles on the road, splashing embarrassed passers-by

On the damp windows, their moulted and wrapped bodies crowd together, their faces closed.

I feel within me a hungry and creative impulse that devours this new decor,

Smells, noises, shapes and colours penetrate me, yet in constant recurrence.

On the roundabout, on the terrace of a café, I pull out a chair that is not too wet, and I sit down to savor

A carousel with old-fashioned colors creaks and I watch the city come to life.

Temporarily satiated, my mind turns to the workshop. My hands freshly placed on the earth ready to cooperate, I create something new with the flavors of autumn.

In the congruence of their movements, clay and autumn form an alliance. The rules change. The damp and soft clay becomes less docile. It imposes its new rhythm on us, we must be patient, the process changes.

No rush, I tell myself that she is asking us to align ourselves. We must respect her and be wise so as not to see her crack.

And if the urge to rear up arises, it is after the fire that revenge can be had.

Because if deformation is desired, the clay, somewhat upset, will tell us how much we have mistreated it.

It's time to go home, relieved after having handled, twisted, smoothed, I put down and cover the object that I created and I leave my workshop, my mind at peace.

I stop at the market, in my basket, chestnut fruits, porcini mushrooms, walnuts, and cucurbita compete for the best dish.

Well cooked, it's time to dress. On a checked tablecloth, I place here and there

My ceramics, which in their particular art, sign my table with a well-inspired style.

I like Autumn. It's an atmosphere, an ambiance, a new scene.

Autumn is counting its days. It will retreat, the cold, the snowflakes and the white will soon arrive...

Poca