Ode to autumn

Rubrum maple

Stare straight up at flames on blue canvas. Stare straight up so long that your neck hurts. Wait for the breeze to rustle limb and branch and leaf. Wait for it.

Wait some more.

A single leaf falls And then another and another. Sparks from natural fire that warm my soul.

(It’s been two years since I’ve seen a North American autumn. God bless it.)

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Holi cow! Well, not really…

The streets will run with color

Holi is my favorite of the Indian holidays. Everyone celebrating gets good and messy and good and messy — throwing “color” (powdered paint or dyed water balloons or oily goo or normal paint or mud or ash) at each other. I’ve been in India twice for the festival, held in the spring to, among other things, herald the coming of the warm season.

This year, I rocked through Pune briefly to “play Holi” (read: get messy and take photos) with my cousin. We covered a lot of ground around the city, but it was a rather sleepy, subdued day. We got a late start, and Pune is a bit tame when it comes to Holi. (A recent bombing at a high-profile tourist hangout that also killed some local college students didn’t help the mood.)

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Copper pot, color kitchen

Just pretty. That's all

Lonely chairs in the Tibetan roadside restaurant we visited in Darjeeling.

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Are you ready for some Holi?!?!

Jabalpur 2002

We’ve got less than two weeks until Holi, and I might be getting a little excited.

The religious festival, this year scheduled for March 1, involves people getting a bit out of control and painting each other with colored water and powder and paint and God knows what else. It’s symbolic of spring’s triumph over winter, good over evil, and the open future over bygones past.

More photos after the break.

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