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La robe rouge

©Pierre Gable

tout le monde avait fui avant la fenaison les bravaches couraient plus vite que les lâches le tonnerre roulait à éclater la terre la mort risquait sa vie à se vouloir en gerbe seule une femme récolterait le germe et se ferait moisson à demeurer fidèle à résister au temps à la fuite des hommes et à la déchirure

Texte : ©jeandiharsce

#photography #poetry #landscape #fine art #provence #sky #photographie #nature #france #portrait #robe #summer

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#photography #poetry #nature #photographie #landscape #fine art #treephotography #france #provence #calm

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#poetry #photography #france #provence #nature #fine art #loneless #blackandwithephotography #photographie #texture

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#nature #poetry #photography #provence #photographie #france #fine art #landscape #window

"La cinquième saison"

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#nature #photography #provence #france #landscape #fine art #treephotography #poetry #photographie #valensole #lavander #tree

Il faut que le noir s’accentue pour que la première étoile apparaisse.

The black needs to intensify for the first star to appear.

C.Bobin

#poetry #photography #france #photographie #landscape #nature #fine art

#nature #poetry #photography #provence #france #landscape #treephotography #photographie #texture #foggy day #dream #dream invisible clouds eyes poesie

"La chapelle à bout de ciel" © Pierre Gable http://pierre-gable.fr https://www.instagram.com/pierre_gable

#nature #poetry #photography #provence #france #landscape #sky #treephotography #photographie #chapelle #clouds

"La chapelle à bout de ciel"

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#photography #nature #poetry #provence #france #landscape #sky #photographie #ciel d'orage #nuages #chapelle

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#nature #poetry #landscape #horse friend #horses #provence #photography #sky

" La cinquième saison"

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“What you cannot live, you can write—but what you cannot write, how are you to live it? Trees know the answer: it is the fifth season. Oh yes, there was spring, summer… but the year, in its quartet, revealed nothing to you. You are missing a love of the roots, a god who would love only you.

You walk. From landscape to landscape. Your step is fragile upon the earth; no one holds you. You need art, you grow breathless, when suddenly you see it.

You draw closer.

You can see at once this is not a photograph: it is a tree. Careful—one cannot fall in love at first sight with a tree, it would kill it. But one can love it, love it over time, with all roots entwined.

It is alone. You are alone. It will never leave you. You press your heart against the bark; your tongue seeks its roots. It is the revealed Verb—the one it embodies and that you have been searching for since the beginning, the one that flows from source, sap, and resin: TO HOLD. (Third group, infinitive, intransitive, fifth season.) To hold dear, to stand firm, to stand upright, against wind and tide. To hold your hand, to hold on to you, hold me, hold on still, again and forever, a little, and even until tomorrow.

Straddling the sun, in the tree’s golden sky, your sorrow comes apart.

For Pierre Gable…

Eliza De Varga

#nature #poetry #photography #landscape #photographie #fine art #treephotography #winter