Didier BOUSSARIE

Late autumn

With the fragility of all things, memories becomes more intense…The recollection of a crimson cloud at the close of day, a golden haired body on an unmade bed, the architecture of a decaying bunch of grapes, balletic forms in the sky, the flight of migratory birds effortlessly passing with their small, distant cries.
« Again today I found a dead bird …» bathed in autumnal light.
A bundle of bones among the leaves, next to nothing, a little rot as the ultimate display.

The seasons have their rituals and messengers, always the same.

In the nights’ full screen …the bellow of the brother animal, forced to engage in combat.
Mysterious ardor to transcend for a little beauty.
Hunting season…

And the triumph in one’s own garden of picking the last dahlia.
Time paradise of late autumn.


Didier Boussarie
July 2011

Translated from French by Deborah Sigsgaard Fruchter