Certainly autumn is the most wabi sabi of all seasons.
Lescure is wreathed in morning mists and although this mistiness vanishes into calm and Indian Summer weather and ends in sunsets blooming with pinks, reds and oranges, we’re swaddled in melancholy. It starts with a significant birthday for Thomas without the mood to really celebrate. But of course we do. There’s delicious food prepared with love and an exceptional old wine. There’s the gift of the healing touch from a new friend and the familiar embrace from old ones. We work, we play. Yet, in the midst of all this joy, melancholy beckons. We can’t stop worrying about the world and life, about parents and loved ones who are ageing and coping with illness and bereavement. We’re at the natural age for contemplation, unavoidingly aware of our human fragility.
There’s no escaping the current mood, so I decide to fully embrace Lady Melancholy’s presence. She’s a capricious companion, alternating loneliness with hope, mellow sorrow with subtle longing. She’s soft-voiced and with little sighs she directs my gaze towards the impossible stillness and beauty of the estate: the maple tree etching an illustration on a marble table, the comfort of a couch with the blanket hand-knitted by a friend, the new work of art that brings serenity to a room, a fruit bowl afire in the afternoon light, and the orchard painted russet and golden. With the dark-eyed lady by my side I wistfully remember lost loves, reminisce about past failures and dream new dreams. It’s sadness with a touch of pleasure. And just like that, she and I may very well become good friends. Like fading autumn leaves, she’s here to remind me that nothing lasts forever. And it’s fine.