The last day of the month again, and how shall I mark it?
A moment of silence? A moment of jubilant noise? A Provençale picnic on a blue-and-white cloth? A sombrero and some mariachis? The memory of climbing a Cretan hillside fragrant with wild sage, finding an ancient olive tree above the sea and climbing up into its branches where the last sun of the day had gathered?
With a Bonnard, I think—this, the quintessence of the summer just passing.
image: Pierre Bonnard, Table Set in a Garden, National Gallery of Art, Washington DC (though never on display when I've been there)
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