Tuesday, June 17, 2008
17 June 2008. La vida es sueño, morning sun.
A scene from Brueghel--one of the seasons. Summer, perhaps, between the sowing and the harvest. Twelve such, around the walls of a single room, Netherlands, long ago. To make the world whole, rain, mist, snow. Each turning as it arrives, like the low clouds over the roofs of Amsterdam, fleeting, gray, late afternoon. Appearing suddenly, scudding, a presence of the world--the divine--and then gone...