Autumn

The days are now growing shorter. Whereas in Antibes I used to note the coming sunset with the daily prayers of my Muslim neighbor in the apartment across the alleyway, the Allah-Is-Great bounding off the stone walls of the old town, I now mark the passing of each day with the steady clip, clop, clip, clop of the neighbor farmer's horse and rickety cart. The birds stop singing for a moment as the horse lets out a tired sigh. The neighbor slows him down just above our house at a crossroad and honks an old black rubber horn which is mounted on the paint-chipped wooden frame of his cart. I know then that the day is nearing an end. In the summertime, he wouldn't pass until nearly 8 or 9 o'clock and my son would let out a cheer as he honked his horn on the corner just above our summer terrace. (We only have one terrace, but it's too cold to use in the winter!)

Autumn is my favorite season in the year but like the fleetingness of the season itself, time passes all too quickly and I have to remind myself to stop and literally smell the roses. Yes, they are still in bloom here in the South of France. Incredible. I was playing pirate and wheeling my son around in his rowboat (wheelbarrow) when I thought to stop, bend the pink blossom to his nose, and mine, and remember how fast time goes. Carpe Diem.