the arrival of winter

oil on linen board 20 x 20 cm.

After days of such high winds our trees have almost been stripped bare of all of their lovely colourful leaves. Autumn fled away so fast, the joy of bright low sunshine that made everything alive and glowing has faded to a soft kind of light.  A light that is slow to appear in the morning, and keen to rest in the late afternoon.

I am sharing a favourite poem of mine, it is about the futility of war. I need say no more.

Futility by Wilfred Owen one of the poets of the first world war. 

Move him into the sun
gently its touch awoke him once,
at home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.

Think how it wakes the seeds,
Woke once the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear achieved, are sides,
Full nerved still warm too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
to break earth's sleep at all?


  1. Like the touches of blue in the sky and the land. This seems less smooth than your usual work - more windblown, maybe? :)

    1. Hi Rhonda yes this is mostly a palette knife painting and does create a different look and create more atmosphere in a windblown way! thank you for visiting my blog and for your comment, nice to hear from you.

  2. Good evening Lass! ....Your beautifully articulated wistful pre-winter painting resonates so perfectly with the the words and emotions conveyed by Owen's lament.

    How appropriate both expressions are together during this very trying and tragedy-filled week!

    Thank you for sharing these thoughts. I had never heard the poem before - beautiful!

    Good Painting!
    Warmest regards,

  3. Good evening laddie! lovely to hear from you. Owen's lament is very poignant and still has it's message regarding the futility of the waste of human life during conflict and war. thank you for your comments about my painting, very much appreciated.