Tuesday, June 1

air, fire, summer

{ photo borrowed from who knows where. thankfully this image is in the public domain! }

there was a copy of this painting in a tall hardcover art book we had around when I was small (very probably an older version of this one?)

among all the art in that book, Flaming June and The Blue Boy were my favorites. the wrinkly silky textures of that bright orange, the closely nestled limbs visually marrying pure calm with the utmost vibrancy-- I think I wanted to be this woman, to feel all the warmth and smoothness of that summer nap all around me. 

I also wanted to write a hundred stories about that boy and his stare. what was he up to in that seventeenth-century outfit?

now that I look at both these paintings again I note the points of contrast and similarity. very different styles of art, different color tones and utterly opposite poses-- but similar attention to the loveliness of how fabric wrinkles and falls around a human body. 

I woke up surprised that it was June. June first, a Tuesday.

I thought of this painting, and I wanted to look at it again, and it seemed a decent excuse to blog. (will I make a habit of this blogging on the first of each month now? we shall see.)

I should find myself a nice art print of Sir Frederic Leighton's cozy, sensuous portrait of Flaming June, someday. I will always find it so beautiful.


another beautiful thing? the sound of the slightest breeze through the leaves of a quaking aspen tree.

some weeks ago I noticed that a few of our neighbors have aspen trees planted. small trios of them, brilliant green in the Arizona sun. while I walked the dogs around the crescent of our cul-de-sac street, the sound of those delicate coin-shaped leaves charmed me out of that particular breezy late spring day into a thousand memories. mountains, camping, school trips, girl scouts, hikes up from Tony Grove Lake.

such a distinctive sound, aspen leaves in the wind. rattly. subtle. crisp but also everywhere. maybe we should plant some aspen trees for ourselves someday.

or perhaps we could settle for the more visual beauty of some June lilies.

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