Vine at the dawn of winter

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Suspended at the dawn of winter, between life and death, the leaves of the vines feverishly await the arrival of Atropos, the most inevitable of the three parks. They would have preferred to die devoured by the fawn star rather than eaten away by an icy breeze. They fear the threatening white shadow, and love the scents and adventures of Aquitaine too much to leave their native land without sorrow. Dressed in their most beautiful autumn clothes, they are ready for their funeral wedding. They laugh cold, winter cheerfulness. Tomorrow, at dawn, at a time when the countryside is whitening, they will leave to marry the brownish humus. A very sad forced marriage, which will still bear fruit when the spring colors float in azure ether. Dying to yourself, to be reborn drunk with the sun, that is the motto of the Bergerac vineyards at the end of the snow season.

On this canvas, it's a jumble of ocher dresses with magenta borders, orange and apple outfits. Ah yes, the leaves are real flirtatious, greedy of admiration. The trembling herbs became curacao by ringing the bell of the hot age. Purified by the cool breeze, they begin to dance on a carpet of green grass, like dervishes, for the divine ice cream ceremony. The stocks, naked, icebergs of tears, are the overseas mourners of the dark procession.

Here are the ushers of nature will summon the vineyard to sell on the ground its splendid red ornament, after having removed his ink grapes. This painting announces the fall of the leaves which will be consumed like a wet brazier. How sad and alone I would be, a simple piece of wood, when the world slips into the darkness of the cold, she thinks! I will only have memories of the time spent as a soft duvet! This table certainly reflects the tilting of all nature in the dark side of force, but also the bright and colorful hope in the immortal cycle of the seasons. Optimists, or realists, will say that at the dawn of winter, opulent vineyards do not die, they reign eternally on the tables of living rooms, in proud bottles, or on walls bearing beautiful images.

Vine at the dawn of winter
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LocationBergerac en Dordogne (France)
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