For some it is the promise of spring, for others the warmth of summer but for me it is Finter.
I adore Finter.
For your less informed readers, Finter is the very brief sprinkle of time between Fall and Winter. The time where the earth is till warm but the sky is ice cold. The time where the grass is still green but the leaves have crashed to their brittle deaths. The time where all color is washed away but in its place...Texture. It is a time of hours, not weeks or even days.
Finter is for poets, most specifically Irish poets who latch onto sadness and despair with the strength of a mule.
Today while walking with my husband, a good but simple man who believes there are but just four season in a year, I was struck full in the face with the sight of Finter in full bloom. Brown grasses, partially opened milk weed pods, peeling bark of the birch, the aroma of rotting apples under my boots, all in one piece of soon to be inhabited land.
Below you will note a simple Finter bouquet . As fragile as the season it illustrates, this Finter gathering of most nearly dead botanical offerings, will most likely fall apart some time during the night. The leaves will separate from their limbs, the flowers will fall onto the table and the silk of the milkweed will likely be eaten by the cat who will gag it up unceremoniously onto our carpet.
Finter.
The most wondrous time of the year
I like your Finter 'flower arrangement'; you'd win competitions here in France. But what is the strange spotted round thing?
ReplyDeleteGood thing you don't live in England; you'd have to call it Autumneryinter!
Cro, we have no idea what the odd spotted leaf is. It was growing about 12-18 inches above ground, each leaf had a single stalk. I could not collect enough of them and now have them scattered all over our 14 ft long dining table. Of course I woke this morning with large purple lesions covering my body and a third ear growing from my forehead. Small price to pay for bringing the beauty of Finter indoors.
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