Monday, August 29, 2011
I come outside in mid afternoon and notice that the sunlight is almost completely off the dirt driveway. It’s not a summer sun anymore. And even as I look forward to the changing seasons at the farmhouse, I know I’ll miss this easy season – of bare feet and warm fresh tomatoes. Of an open window in the bathroom so that I can listen to birds as I run the shower. I’ll miss that.
Isis has taken to coming in in the morning and, after sniffing in his usual nose-into-everything fashion, to jumping up on the window sill in the sunroom.
He’ll sleep there for hours unless I disturb him with kitchen noises. (He prefers to watch me cook, even if the cooking is only perfunctory – like it is at breakfast time.)
My daughter spent the night at the farmhouse and she said the words I have come to expect from visitors here: I sleep so well at the farmhouse! What is it about the place?
I know the magic. It’s the quiet, the sunshine, the lemon rug and the linen curtains. It's the ice cream, freshly churned and the just picked tomatoes on the counter. Evocative of a country serenity and of stress free times. The kind we don’t know much anymore.
Later, in the evening, I zip over to listen to music of Ernan Lopez-Nussa, a superb Cuban jazz pianist. He’s playing in a trio at the home of friends. Here they are -- the trio and the pair of friends in the background:
It's a maiden night voyage for Rosie and me. On a scooter, you feel the cool air seep in when you pass through the lowlands.
I had, earlier, put in another solid morning of writing, under-the-gun writing – I have so little time left!
I feel satisfied. Despite the travel or maybe because the periods of travel this summer, I was able to double the text on my book. If I edit throughout the year and put in as many pages next summer, I shall be done by the end of 2012. Maybe on December 12, 2012, just to give it a little symmetry. It will be a very satisfying day indeed. Even if it’ll be in the dead of winter.