By: Peter Verbica
Klimt ladles his figures in gold as if he were a gifted baker. He dips and drizzles and drenches them, like honey from a wood dipper drowning a buttery brioche. His hand keeps steady along certain lines, his brush tempted by Midas always to engulf more. Still, his strong-willed women manage to sneak out for a kiss, to fight for Israel while the unsuspecting slumber, to infuriate the Austrian Ministry of Education. Fifty years wraps you both in gold as well, like California oat and wheat and rye, curing under a summer sun. The dusk brings the scent of the Bays a cooler wind, the subtlety of softer light. And gold is good, don’t get me wrong. But, even Kilmt with his big feet and smock frees an apple tree and poppies in a field, and lets their colors blossom. Perhaps like copper and nickel and zinc, other colors have strengthened you, too. These alloys from different decades are your allies, got you ready for the gold. Now I’ve sent your family and friends to consult with the moon, and champagne, with Monarch chrysalises, and the wind singing through Serengeti grasses. They’re unanimous in their findings: This is your brilliant year. It’s as if light like a Viennese artist is painting the cobblestones on the road ahead of you with gold for your anniversary. Some say coincidence, but I argue providence. It’s just that obvious to me.
Peter Coe Verbica grew up on a commercial cattle ranch in Northern California. He obtained a BA and JD from Santa Clara University and an MS from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. He is married and has four daughters.