Monday, October 10, 2005

sycamore fade





The sycamore (Acer pseudoplatanus) is said to have no significant autumn colour - the leaves are normally still green when they turn dry and crinkled and biscuit-coloured. You may not be very delighted by these pictures, but the architecture of a crown made from these elements is subtly impressive and once you've noticed it you'll want to keep looking out for it.



The crisping happens on the outermost leaves first, the October air glazes the trees leaving them still and burly - Botticelli period. After many hours a cloth's blind buffing communicates, as by hand-heat, with the inner core; a serpentine patina resides in pebble and tsuba.

(The other time I notice sycamores is in May when the leaves are fresh and small, a very pure green, and they overlap each other in tiers creating a sumptuous layered effect.)




These leaves (of London Plane) are flashier, closer to the stereotype. Trolls make cigars out of them; at night you can hear the crackling.

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1 Comments:

At 7:06 pm, Blogger 'Thought & Humor' said...

We work like a horse.
We eat like a pig.
We like to play chicken.
You can get someone's goat.
We can be as slippery as a snake.
We get dog tired.
We can be as quiet as a mouse.
We can be as quick as a cat.
Some of us are as strong as an ox.
People try to buffalo others.
Some are as ugly as a toad.
We can be as gentle as a lamb.
Sometimes we are as happy as a lark.
Some of us drink like a fish.
We can be as proud as a peacock.
A few of us are as hairy as a gorilla.
You can get a frog in your throat.
We can be a lone wolf.
But I'm having a whale of a time!

You have a riveting web log
and undoubtedly must have
atypical & quiescent potential
for your intended readership.
May I suggest that you do
everything in your power to
honor your encyclopedic/omniscient
Designer/Architect as well
as your revering audience.
As soon as we acknowledge
this Supreme Designer/Architect,
Who has erected the beauteous
fabric of the universe, our minds
must necessarily be ravished with
wonder at this infinate goodness,
wisdom and power.


Please remember to never
restrict anyone's opportunities
for ascertaining uninterrupted
existence for their quintessence.

There is a time for everything,
a season for every activity
under heaven. A time to be
born and a time to die. A
time to plant and a time to
harvest. A time to kill and
a time to heal. A time to
tear down and a time to
rebuild. A time to cry and
a time to laugh. A time to
grieve and a time to dance.
A time to scatter stones
and a time to gather stones.
A time to embrace and a
time to turn away. A time to
search and a time to lose.
A time to keep and a time to
throw away. A time to tear
and a time to mend. A time
to be quiet and a time to
speak up. A time to love
and a time to hate. A time
for war and a time for peace.


Best wishes for continued ascendancy,
Dr. Howdy

'Thought & Humor'

P.S. One thing of which I am sure is
that the common culture of my youth
is gone for good. It was hollowed out
by the rise of ethnic "identity politics,"
then splintered beyond hope of repair
by the emergence of the web-based
technologies that so maximized and
facilitated cultural choice as to make
the broad-based offerings of the old
mass media look bland and unchallenging
by comparison."

 

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