I am panicking,
realizing that I’ve got to go to Santa Cruz on Tuesday, New York on Friday.
Instead, I want to
- made gorditas (little char-striped masa harina rounds) on the griddle
- write a poem about a kestrel
- find a striped sail to hoist across the patio for shade, and under it a richness of geraniums
- have a garden party and eat out by candelabra-light, or fairy lights and moon-like paper lanterns strung in all the trees (if only there were trees)
- plant a blue and pink garden
- bicycle to work
- paint the bathroom plum and paper white
- make a fish stew with harissa
- get all my writing, in it its ice-green folders, into magazine files in my wooden cabinet
- reread The Charterhouse of Parma
- make a Greek salad every day, with summer tomatoes and Mt. Vikos feta with mint and oregano
image: Provence Mon Amour
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