mixing the sound of autumn

I’ve not really got around to listening to any new music lately because I’m (still?) stuck on a handful of music mixes that I just repeat and repeat and repeat and repeat and … And because

1. I’m a friendly soul who likes to share, and
2. even more because I’m just so in love with this music and need to infect other people with the virus as well, and
3. even even more because the people who have put together these mixes have put so much thought and love and passion and time into it and really deserve some appreciation,

I’m linking them all up here for you. All you need to do is click on these beautiful, enticing, mysterious pictures to be taken to some of the best sounds your ears will have heard in a long time.

First, there’s this beauty.  Lots of soothing sounds and gentle harmonies that have the same effect on me as standing underneath an autumn trees that softly rains its golden-yellow leaves down on my head.

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Then, there’s this: the bitter-wet freshness of decaying leaves alternates with the crisp edges of sound as all the trimmings are falling away.

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This one is more about the whole getting-back-to-school feeling of glorious autumn days gone past, with the undercurrent brimming full of memories of love lost, childhood gone and dreams of space and home.

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And then, there is this: a magical, no-nonsense, laughing-through-the-tough-times, sparkling gem with the energy of summer and the sharpness of burning leaves.

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And as a bonus I’m also adding this, which only went up today but which I’m loving very much already for its tones of irreverence and the feeling of space and the smell of woodfires and the memory of people stomping, dancing and clapping in a wooden-beamed pub (which is not my own memory, but feels like it could be…).

unfocused

I feel like I should be writing a new post. Actually, I want to write a new post. I just can’t focus on anything that’s worth being written.

I had a look through my drafts, but none of them fit my mood. I’m still slightly nauseous – not physically, but in my head – from over-indulging in the wine and limoncello and Cuba Libre and champagne on my grandma’s 86th birthday dinner/party on Wednesday.

I have so much time on my hands, that I cannot fit enough things in to fill up my days. I know that’s a luxury problem, but it’s a problem nonetheless. Time is dripping through my fingers and I don’t know what to do with it. It’s all over the floor at the moment. A bit of a mess, to be honest.

I should be writing my NaNo novel, except that I gave up winning that and started a new story half-way through. I’ll have to write thousands of words every day for the next week if I want to win. I could do it. Maybe I should do it. Maybe I will. Not sure.

Walking the dog in the mornings is fine. There’s clear, crisp, slightly wet air and it wakes me up and clears my head. And there’s things to see, like this:

Or this:

And sometimes this, although not so much anymore, because the leaves are falling rapidly:

Sorry for the total lack of focus on this post. It’s an adequate representation of my mind at the moment.

the light of autumn

What is the difference between the light of summer and that of autumn?

There is a difference, I can see it. Where summer is bold, autumn is hazy. Where summer glares, autumn mellows. And where the light of summer picks out silhouettes in blinding brightness, boldly slashing pictures in light and dark, autumn’s light drips gentle gold, letting it sink into the colours and bringing forth the details between the contours.

Maybe the difference is  that of extremes crumbled, of experience gained, of subtlety discovered.

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August

In our latitude, the four seasons supposedly all take roughly the same time, about three months, give or take a few weeks. Then why is it that summer always seems so very much shorter than any of the other three?

I long for summer every time and then I blink and it’s June, I blink again and July’s gone and suddenly it’s August and the air smells of harvested wheat and apples falling from the trees and there’s this familiar, tangy, not-quite-summery scent in the air.

Even though the sun is still hot and bright, the light has become just a hint more mellow – not as fierce as it was just two weeks ago. Even though everything is still green and there are summer flowers everywhere, the green is just a hint tired, and the golden browns are starting to slowly, slowly take over from the greens. And even though my daydreams are filled with summer pictures, the memories of picking up wild apples on Sunday walks, flying kites on stubbly fields and eating my grandma’s plum cake with plums picked off the tree the same day, are starting to infiltrate my summer dream.

Can it be that autumn is really that close already? Where did my glorious, the-smell-of-rain-on-a-dusty-road, eating-lemon-ice-cream-in-the-park, jumping-through-the-spray-of-the-garden-sprinkler, napping-through-a-heatwave, sitting-around-the-fire-until-midnight summer go?!?

Sunday inspiration

I decided, when coming home to my parents for my post-dissertation break, to treat this like a holiday – at least photo-wise. 🙂

It’s remarkable that I have tons of beautiful, amazing photos from almost any place that I have visited, yet when I’m home I only take family snapshots and pictures of the garden. This time, I’m pretending to be a tourist and trying to look at my surroundings with fresh eyes. It’s quite astonishing what I’m finding in the neighbourhood I grew up in and thought I knew like the back of my hand.

This afternoon, with a cold, high sky and the sun making the autumn trees blaze in gold and red, we (some of my siblings and me) kidnapped our grandma and drove to a neighbouring town, going for a walk in the park of the palace of the count whose family used to govern the town and surrounding area for hundreds of years. Below are some of the best pictures and I hope they will inspire you as they have inspired me (new story idea! plus a non-fiction idea!). Or maybe it was the fresh air. In that case – look at the pictures, then go for a walk. Try to keep your mind as open as your eyes – who knows what wonders you will come across?

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Sunday morning in autumn in the countryside of southern Germany

The sun rises weakly over the green wooded and fielded hill, only a soft blurred red area in the quiet fog. As she rises, she gains strength, burning away the dampness, slowly at first, then ever faster until the houses and gardens, the villages and little towns sit in soft clear light, under a hazy, not-quite-blue sky. It is quiet. Birds chatter from time to time. Flowers open their petals. Coffee is being made inside the homes and crisp fresh breadrolls eaten, still warm in the middle, with butter and honey. Churchbells ring, calling to service. The landscape soaks up the gentle heat of the quiet sun and lies in peaceful stillness. A small airplane drones across the sky. The birds are mostly silent now, but the sounds of cars driving by, in the distance and sometimes closer, can be heard every few minutes. A dog barks. Children play, far away, their voices only just carrying through the quietness. All public life has stopped, no shops are open, no deliveries are made, Sundays are private. Some villages, however, have autumn festivals going on – market stalls along which the people stroll, chatting to their neighbours, acquaintances and friends, buying pottery or woodwork, herbs or home-made jam, eating sausages in a breadroll or a steak sandwich for lunch, while a band plays music or the children’s choir performs their repertoire. Everywhere else Sunday lunch is being cooked and the smell of potatoes and roast wafts through the air and soon the families will be sitting down to eat. The sun shines on unconcernedly, covering everything in a diffuse golden light.