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Morning Walk (1888)
A woman strides through dappled sunlight, her skirt brushing dew-laden grass. The air hums with dawn’s quiet energy—crushed petals, damp earth, the whisper of fabric against motion. She moves with purpose, yet the path ahead remains soft, undefined, swallowed by golden haze.
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A Garden in September (1889-1899)
Late summer light filters through the garden, softening the edges of petals and leaves. Warm yellows blend with fading greens, a quiet celebration of September’s slow turn. The air feels thick with color, as if the flowers themselves hold the last breath of sunlight before autumn arrives.
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Overlooking the Garden (1910)
A lush garden sprawls below, its vibrant greens and hidden pathways inviting exploration. The scene holds quiet mystery—what blooms just beyond view?
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Autumn Tangle (1920)
Leaves twist in a riot of gold and crimson, branches knotted like old veins. The woods hum with decay, every tangled vine whispering of seasons turning. You can almost hear the crisp snap underfoot.
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Autumn
Leaves blaze in fiery reds and golds, their crisp edges curling against a cool breeze. The forest floor hums with the quiet decay of fallen branches, rich earth peeking through the carpet of color. A fleeting warmth lingers in the air, caught between summer’s end and winter’s approach.
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A Garden Stroll (1877)
A woman in rustling silk pauses between rose bushes, sunlight dappling her parasol. The garden hums with bees as her gloved fingers brush a blossom—that suspended moment when afternoon lingers before fading into evening.
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Afternoon respite
Sunlight filters through the trees, dappling the grass where a lone figure rests. Shadows stretch long in the late day, blending with lazy brushstrokes that suggest a breeze rustling leaves. The scene hums with quiet warmth, inviting you to linger in its golden stillness.
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Children with Geese (1887)
Two barefoot children pause in a sunlit field, their laughter silent as geese waddle close. One child reaches out, fingers brushing white feathers, while the other watches with wide eyes. The grass bends underfoot, alive with the quiet tension of trust between small hands and wary beaks.
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Tea in the garden
Sunlight filters through the leaves, dappling the porcelain cup. A hand hovers near the saucer, mid-reach. The garden hums—bees, rustling skirts, the faint clink of silverware. Steam curls from the tea, carrying the scent of bergamot and cut grass. A pause before the first sip.