16 July 2017
“I have to see a thing a thousand times before
I see it once.”
Thomas Wolfe
In the early light of a Sunday morning, I
look south from the balcony down the Avenue des Alpes to the lake. A slight
breeze chills my bare feet, and cools my coffee.
Doves coo rhythmically or flutter
noisily. A crow squawks from a rooftop. Swallows circle and dive.
A few cars pass, accelerating or
braking on the slope. I dreamt last night I had a conversation with a local
about whether cars here were stick shifts or automatic, as stopping for
pedestrians on these hills would require good shifting and braking skills. I
can’t recall the answer.
Paint colors shape my vocabulary.
This seems criminal, but perhaps Lac Leman changes shades so often that there
can be no name for its color. All I can say is that it is a paler blue on the
near shore, and more intense beyond. As the sun rises, the blue deepens in the
center and the far shore is illuminated. Then there is a green, populated
slope, the French side. Above, the procession of mountains begins, gray-green,
with slashes of cleared ground. Above this the sky is pale salmon, then paler
blue with horizontal clouds and then the lighter blue of early morning.
Ours is one of a procession of
buildings marching down the hill. They are solid, massive, almost squat. Four
or six stories high, each with balconies and ornate decorations around the
windows. The building next door has green shutters; across the avenue, planters
of pink geraniums flourish around on wrought iron railings. Faded awnings
stretch to protect from the sun. One building, down the slope, is pink, and has
red and white striped awnings.
I have in fact three views from
here. To the right and left, between the roofs, I can see the mountains to the
east and west.
The difficulty comes in showing and
sharing. The eye and hand fail me on this first try.
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