June Sweater

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Indira Ganesan, June Rain, 2018

I’ve got my sweater on as the rains pours away.  The flowers drenched, the thirsty earth soil quenched.  I type as I hum a song and get nostalgic for a memory I never had.

Read some very good books:  The House of Names ; Song of Achilles; Home Fire; Circe; and am a quarter way into Cloud Atlas; and  The Idiot (by Elif Bautman) as well.

Summers are meant for books you can sink your teeth in without interruption, a book that makes you eager to turn the page, wake early to start again, if your reading is interrupted.  I’m not clinking quite with the last two* as I did the others (clicking is the word that should be used, but I think of the sound of toasting, raising a glass to a novel’s good health.)

Let me know what great book you are devouring now.

*I didn’t finish Cloud Atlas, regretfully, but I liked The Idiot quite a lot.  It was infuriating and delightful, leaving you a bit smarter, too.  Salve! (edited dec 15, 2018)

Memorial Days

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A woman let her horse feed on the clover in the strip of field between the Stop and Shop and the local garage.  The land near the garage is notorious for getting flooded, and remaining ankle to knee-deep long after the rain stops.  The horse is blond, a pale beauty.   There is something so right in this picture.  I got lemonade, strawberries, parsley and a baguette for dinner.  All day, nearly, the brie has been waiting on the counter.    The chips man was hustling bags in the aisles almost as people grabbed them off the shelves.  Nostalgia drives us to grab what we love from childhood: bread and butter pickles, yoo-hoo, peanuts.  A neighbor carried home two stacks of wood.  For a beach fire, he explained.