almost autumn.

darlings

we had a day of autumn here yesterday!

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it was most exciting.

not an Entire Day, actually – because it was over by lunchtime, of course, when the sun finally came out.

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but enough fruit-falling-feeling to herald a moment of Philip Larkin which we found here. 

And now the leaves suddenly lose strength.
Decaying towers stand still, lurid, lanes-long,
And seen from landing windows, or the length
Of gardens, rubricate afternoons. New strong
Rain-bearing night-winds come: then
Leaves chase warm buses, speckle statued air,
Pile up in corners, fetch out vague broomed men
Through mists at morning.

And no matter where goes down,
The sallow lapsing drift in fields
Or squares behind hoardings, all men hesitate
Separately, always, seeing another year gone –
Frockcoated gentleman, farmer at his gate,
Villein with mattock, soldiers on their shields,
All silent, watching the winter coming on.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAand, quite naturally, a reflective Feeling gives rise to a little Keats:

Ode To Autumn

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimmed their clammy cell.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir, the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

John Keats

and again, this morning, it was a slightly chilly start to the day and rather lovely as a consequence of waking early and spending a few moments just looking out of the window.

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before getting down to work.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAwhat’s the weather doing in your part of the world?

we note from the world-of-instagram that the sun is already faint over Berlin (both the metaphorical place that is forever Berlin and there where it really lives with its own trains and subways and skyline).

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as we mourn the passing of Mr. Lou Reed who passed through his own autumn and reached the winter of his life too, too s o o n.

finding roots. and places to buy roses.

darlings

slowly, slowly, but surely, we are Settling In.

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buying californian produce and stuff-for-the-house (sometimes it is a little disconcerting to find new suppliers for everything that we Love to have around – roses, satsumas, incense – but little by little we ask People where they buy theirs and we start to find New Places that fulfill our needs). IMG_0146

now This is not currently on Display (usually it lives at the L’Ermitage, in the Writers’ Bar, just off the delicious creme and caramel shades sitting room with-fire-area where we Take Tea of an afternoon).

but we’re including it here (from an earlier trip – before We Moved Back) to celebrate that we sent out a whole pile of Proposals for Tea To Agents (with a synopsis of our screenplay – called – winningly, we think – gloria*) this morning.

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the secret to success (and Deeply Curiously Interesting meetings) is to write a few letters each day – and then – this is the important bit – seal the envelope (we prefer a ink stamp with vintage car as a final flourish) – and go-to-the-post-office.

we’ve been doing this since…….

*lookingintomiddledistance*

um.

since we were 9 years old.

for that’s for another Time.

anyway.

it works.

and we’ve always got work – projects – contacts – and delicious anecdotes galore to share out of such Letters.
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we’ve been doing lots of driving at Night.

because Los Angeles is magical at night.

(doesn’t the Radio antenna remind you of that last’ish scene in Rocky Horror, darlings?)

here you go:

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and the other insight we can share with you is that getting up Very Early and doing a Lot of Writing and answering emails and responding to East Coast queries and special advisory Matters is the Key to enjoying Life on This Coast.

because if one greets the Dawn over here and does a Lot of work Very Early in the Day.

one can go and Play.

which we love to do.

because life is meant to be glorious.

especially if one Pops into the Beverly Hills Library and starts arranging one’s things (neatly) and suddenly someone comes around the corner and says, “Oh my god!” and smiles at us and we realize it’s someone we Knew from New York who has just moved here too.

both of us in the Library.

by the Bach sheet music in red leather bindings (just in case you’re here too and want to pop upstairs and see us).

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deep, lovely sigh.

how’s Tuesday in your corner of the World?