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| 3 August 2025 |
El otoño es más una estación del alma que de la naturaleza.
Jorge Luís Borges
Autumn is more a season of the soul than of nature.
Jorge Luís Borges
Les Feuilles Mortes (literally “The Dead Leaves”) is a popular French song originally recorded in 1945. It is known in English as “Autumn Leaves”. The song was composed by Joseph Kosma with lyrics by French poet Jacques Prévert
"The falling leaves drift by the window. The autumn leaves of red and gold. I see your lips, the summer kisses. The sunburnt hands I used to hold. Since you went away the days grow long. And soon I'll hear old winter's song. But I miss you most of all my darling. When autumn leaves start to fall."
The remontant roses (those that bloom more than once) are showing their colours right now. I am wearing a t-shirt but I feel a tad cold. I am used to intense heat. I dislike this conservative Vancouver/Canadian version.
At about this time, when I am walking near my house, I invariably find these fallen maple leaves. They seem to announce to me that I should soon prepare to wear my long-sleeved flannel shirts.
Autumn in my Kits home is a relief in comparison with our large Kerrisdale garden. I soon learned to use my lawnmower with a bag to sweep up the many fallen leaves in our boulevard.
Autumn for me brought the lovely thought that I would soon be acurrucando (snuggling) with my Rosemary in our bed with our two cats as company.
There is a kind of stability in the coming and going of seasons. Stability is something that I miss as I had it in my 52 years with my Rosemary. Now that stability is the presence of my cats Niño and Niña. They provide me with a purpose for holding on. Niño has lymphatic cancer of the intestines. Somehow he has survived since he was diagnosed two years ago. Being with him reminds me what it was like the two months I lived with Rosemary when we both knew she was going to die. After turning off the lights I would turn around as not to face her and did my best to cry without making too much noise. I never asked her how my crying affected her.
I will be 83 very soon and it seems to me that I have no idea who will be alive come spring. Will it be Niño or me?
