Somehow I missed the first half of the day. It just passed me by. Oh, sure, I fed the animals, ate another solo breakfast (Ed was on a Zoom call all morning long again), took a few pictures for Ocean...
But I did not seize the moment and run outside. No bulbs went into the ground. I mostly stayed in, candle lit, hoodie zipped tight and read about the art of French baking. That's not a good use of a sunny morning, no matter how you slice it!
By the afternoon, I needed a forest bath. You know -- a walk in the woods where you pay attention to the trees, the fragrance, the quiet.
I wanted to drag Ed out with me, but that just wasn't going to happen. He was still on his Zoom call. Still, I needed that walk, if only to slow down the day a little and have me acknowledge its tenderness and beauty.
In the afternoon, Snowdrop comes to the farmette.
This, at least, is always a good set of hours -- ones with a child in them, where the child teaches you something about her young life, thus teaching you a little about yourself too.
(tossing crab apples at each other)
(at home, with the brothers two)
(just outside their home -- evidence that fall is at her brightest)
In the evening I go back to my cookbooks. What is it with me? An imaginary trip into another world of cooking and baking? Or maybe I'm preparing for the winter months, where kitchen work is meditative and healing and, yes, joyful.
So many grand cookbooks out there! Ed, are you ready for a winter of overeating?
