Springtime in Sepia

Never the trees on the banks were more beautiful than they are now, only the bouquets of branches emerging. Above them a Nicolas Poussin sky.

The flooded plain is itself another sky, expanded domain of wild swans and fishermen installed along the dykes. Both are capable of ignoring, torn from the banks, the jetsam washed up against the fences, caught on the stakes.

The magnitude of a valley allow us to banish from our gaze the tide of rubbish from a world in disarray. There remain the main outlines, the overall framework and all those reflections indicating a patching up of the pools at the bottom of the expanded river.

You could imagine, if the climate were more agreeable, in all urbanity, a crowd of bathers having fun swimming in the lake so temporary.

 

Temporary sprawl, oscillating between gray and sepia. Appearing motionless, only a slight seething indicates forward motion.

The night improvises another story : the earth and the water being offered incense by the moon and the shadows.

 

Landscapes with Angels

Poems from Taize

Pierre Etienne

 

 

 

Done