quinta-feira, 22 de setembro de 2016

Chegou o Outono

 
 "Uma tarde, de súbito, terminou o Verão, chegou o Outono.
Na sua quietude e na sua frescura, nas cores frias do ar; num céu cinzento-escruto com tufos de nuvens que se esticavam sobre a abóbada de cor creme que nos cobria, nuvens dispersas estriadas de vermelho. Escuras eram as colinas de um azul profundo e as montanhas envoltas numa escura neblina, mais escuras ainda os paredões das gargantas, e a lua cheia.
Quietude absoluta."
 
 
p.225
Thór Vilhjálmsson | Arde o Musgo Cinzento
 

2 comentários:

Beatriz disse...

Denise :)

Das vezes que estive na Islândia posso confirmar a fulgurante beleza do Outono.

O nosso Outono com as suas castanhas, o aroma no ar, as abóboras, a sua compota com requeijão e pinhões, as lareiras e as geleias! Delícias Outonais sem preço :)

A minha memória guarda muito "lixo" e lembro-me de inúmeras frases e poemas.

“Her pleasure in the walk must arise from the exercise and the day, from the view of the last smiles of the year upon the tawny leaves and withered hedges, and from repeating to herself some few of the thousand poetical descriptions extant of autumn — that season of peculiar and inexhaustible influence on the mind of taste and tenderness — that season which has drawn from every poet worthy of being read some attempt at description, or some lines of feeling.” Austen, Persuasion

“You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintery light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person died for no reason.” Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast

“Give me juicy autumnal fruit, ripe and red from the orchard" Walt Whitman, The Complete Poems

“Flowers, cold from the dew,
And autumn's approaching breath,
I pluck for the warm, luxuriant braids,
Which haven't faded yet.

In their nights, fragrantly resinous,
Entwined with delightful mystery,
They will breathe in her springlike
Extraordinary beauty.

But in a whirlwind of sound and fire,
From her shing head they will flutter
And falland before her
They will die, faintly fragrant still.

And, impelled by faithful longing,
My obedient gaze will feast upon them—
With a reverent hand,
Love will gather their rotting remains.”
Anna Akhmatova, The Complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova

Fiquemos por aqui sem maçar ninguém :)
Um Outono colorido e aconchegante.
Beijinhos

Denise disse...

Olá Beatriz!

Que bonito, obrigada! Adorei!
Imagino a beleza do lugar...!
Não há estação mais bonita para mim que o Outono. Gosto tanto que, para quem me conhece bem, roça quase o exagero :)

Beijinho! E um Outono bem "dourado" ;)