iRemember

I remember so well this time of year, when the fields have returned to dark brown earth once more, the furrows polished smooth by the plough blades, and the golden fields of corn, shimmering in late summer breezes, are already a distant memory. The sun rises lazily though hazy mists, which hover over meadows and mingles with the breath of cows, and the cobwebs on the withering blackberries are heavy with dew. 

The sweet chestnut candle flowers, so recently dancing in the sunlight, are now drooping heavy with smooth brown conkers, which fall and remain scattered around the tree trunk, waiting for the little boys who no longer come to pick them up. 

The landscape changes from light to dark and the sky is strangely quiet, until you realise the swifts and swallows have left without saying goodbye, and are probably already chirruping and screaming through the skies over African villages and towns. 

And so the days gradually get shorter, the long descent into the cold and monochrome world of winter. It's time to remember where the sloe trees are.

A note about the title of this blog

'The murmur of ancient geraniums' is a line from 100 Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, which I had always liked, and stored away in my mind thinking that it would come in handy one day, perhaps for an artwork. 
But when I was setting off to South America it seemed an appropriate title for my blog.

The banner image is plundered from a Greek cigarette brand 'Santé', which I came upon on my first visit to Greece in 1998. I was not even a smoker anymore by then, but I was drawn to the stylish packet, and the girl with her head tilted back, and bought a packet. I remember smoking some of them, but not inhaling of course. I think my son finished the rest years later, when they must have been dry as a bone.

For years smokers wondered who the woman was, some presumed it was the lover of the painter who did the artwork, others that it was a prominent Athenian woman. Finally became known that it was the actress and dancer Zozo Dalmas.

Being back in Greece, I have just discovered that after 85 years of production the brand is now been discontinued.

An earlier version of the packaging:

Holes

"There's a crack in everything, that's how the light get's in."
Leonard Cohen

The Monkey

Met a Chinese woman on the beach. She was packing away her personal drone, which she carries around with her to take photos and videos from the vantage point this new technology provides. This struck me as a bit flash (if not a bit extravagant in the hand luggage department) but also quite original, seeing that most people think selfies are the new big thing, and busily obeying the trend. Her name was Adora, and her parents had chosen her name with great foresight.
She was here with her family on holiday, "For Chinese New Year."
"Today!", she adds, as if suddenly remembering.
"Which one?" I ask, and after a moment of confusion, her black eyes searching mine for meaning, she answers:
"The Monkey."
"I am a goat," I say.
"Ah yes, the goat was last year."
Now it is my turn to be a bit confused before I remember that five twelves are indeed sixty (and in any case I'm sure I no longer pass for forty eight).
In the mean time an older woman and a small boy have joined us.
Adora introduces me to her mother Lily, and her son Chiro.
Her mother looks like her first camera (like mine) was probably a Box Brownie.
As Adora continues to pack away her drone/camera rig into its foam lined carry case, I wonder what 5 year old Chiro will taking (or making) photos with in twenty years time.
Happy Chinese New Year!