Autumn rolled in on time at the start of September.  Temperatures on the Cape dipped, and continued to dip from the 70’s to 50’s, though autumn’s official start late in the month sees warmer weather returning.  The hummingbords are gone, headed south on their migration to the Gulf Coast and Mexico. My days now stretch without their frequent visits to the salvia.  Late dahlias are slowly waking in my garden, and the roses continue to bloom.  The mums are on stand by as are the Montauk daisies. Hopefully, October will see the final flower burst, maybe into November.

I have enrolled in an online class on Indian art, and I am reading about Buddhist stupas, which I did forty -two years ago in India, when I studied art history for a year at a Stella Maris College. We drew stupas, and learned about the distinguishing features in Buddha-imagery, which included “lotiform” lips, which made us seventeen-year-olds giggle. I find no trace of Buddha’s lips in the histories I am now reading, though there is mention of lotus-shaped eyes. The course is harder than I imagined, with weekly questions to answer, plus blog postings. I am in the company of 54 students from around the world, in all stages of life.

But my obsession this week is a song I have posted on other forms of social media, sung by Meklit, an Ethiopian-American singer, accompanied by The Kronos Quartet. It is “The Day the President Sang Amazing Grace,” written by Zoe Milford, and also covered by Joan Baez. The shift of a pronoun from “the” to “my” might make you weep, as it did me:

https:// t.co/7L1p19usGl?amp=1

https://m.youtube.com/watch?feature=youtu.be&v=AhGmjpqioe4

Today I am reminded that once long ago, I visited France for the first time. I had taken a hovercraft from London to Calais, been terribly and embarrassingly seasick, and then had bundled myself into a train for Paris. on the train, a man who claimed he was an architect offered me a place to stay in his home, which I laughingly refused. I gratefully took some station cake offered by a trolly ( France! Delicious, perfect pound cake on a trolley pushed by an affable woman between the seats!)

The woman seated next to me wondered how I would manage to travel in Paris. I had not thought of it, and assumed I would take a cab. Non, no, she exclaimed, handing me two metro tickets, and a list of directions on how to find my hotel.

The next day, I’d find the arc de triumph, cafe de flore, meet friends, and have adventures. I’d lunch with Madam Gallimard, visit Chartres, get fined by the Metro Police. I would realize that a crepe citron purchased on the street was more tasty and comforting than the lentil pilaf at a Left Bank veg restaurant. I’d fall in love with the city, but that’s another story.

I returned to Paris in 2016, but now I wonder when I’ll get back. Several dozen tulip bulbs needed to be planted. Maybe in the spring, I can pretend my garden is a fraction of the Jardin du Luxembourg… good to have a dream, anyway.