Let us feed the harvest to the fire, glowing embers from the black coals of night— The crops are gathered, the forest colored fallow, bright from the burning, dry leaves lie scattered, still on the ground— The crop machines parked now and cleaned, farm animals at peace, the dinner table
Eyes closed, in bed I lie, I see my screen, I scroll down and down, the day’s remains passing, the searching, tender touches, nigh the morning light— till I feel her breathe, like waves of solace, an oasis of burgundy blankets, her warming arms in coldest night. Autumn, you
The moon, the early hours, breaking through swift-moving clouds, the north like day is calling us, as autumn chill presses the brow. Sixty years pass, beat down like raindrops, fill a bucket that's never full. Still we rise each new morning, laugh and cry, wrapped warm in
In a dimly lit restaurant nestled in the cobbled alleys of Zürich’s Niederdorf, ten of the world’s most eminent (and eccentrically over-dressed) mathematicians gathered around a table buckling under the weight of antipasti and wild gesticulation. Archimedes, having insisted on entering the premises wrapped only in a
Dare I dream of roses, a night sky passing proud, Orion and all his friends standing, in heaven’s dark blue, not loud— Like children we remember, the home from where we were, the rocket then we boarded— steel forged and smoothed our nerve. The first kiss, the awkward bumble,
We start with feet riding on a rubber floor, a moving carriage, scuffed by thousands of shoes, our reflections caught for a second in the glass. A middle-aged man stares at us, then sinks again as the train descends into the central tunnel; brushed steel and huddled shoulders carry
Wir fahren, die Füsse auf dem Gummiboden, den tausend Schuhe blank und stumpf zugleich gerieben, im fahrenden Wagen, wo für einen Augenblick unsre Spiegelbilder an den Scheiben blieben. Ein Mann mittleren Alters sieht uns an, dann sinkt sein Blick zurück ins Ungewisse, während der Zug hinab in die Tunnel fährt;
Light floods the valleys by Pontresina, slowly overturning the shadows, driving them into scattered patches beneath the trees, into low ravines where the sun has yet to find them. The massive rock, a geological matrix, how you wear the fragile woods like a blanket woven in autumn colors, yellow, orange,
The chorus of thundering cannons announcing the day, the grass on the hills and woods set in sway, Autumn like armies in red, orange and blue, charges directly and bursts into view— Colours and crispness, the air and the mist, along an old river that meanders and twists, so suited
Something knocks. The darkness waits outside, a breakup like a spider spinning cobwebs in the corners, draping furniture like linen, like the falling apart of cobblestone streets, red brick mansions on Beacon Hill with no heirs, not even a gardener— the gentlemen have all booked flights overseas, young Spanish women
Digital Pontresina, Engadin, Switzerland · October 2026 Digital interpretation of an original photograph, inspired by Ferdinand Hodler. Original
Digital Seiser Alm, South Tyrol · October 2026 Digital interpretation of an original photograph, inspired by Ferdinand Hodler. Original