Two pleasant surprises this afternoon—a gentle rain (making me long for hot chocolate), and a visit of quails, first ambling through a wash of fallen leaves, then scattering across the driveway as if in a little gust of wind. It’s been too long since we’ve had either.
Instead of hot chocolate, I made due with a few last bits of chocolate-dipped orange rind. And I’ve been cleaning out cupboards and drawers, not ready yet to tackle the book piles. Not ready to let go all of those worlds and lives closed into the pages.
I want to curl up under a thick soft old quilt and read, in yellow lamplight. I want to make a big kettle of posole, with chili peppers and oregano and garlic, steaming the windows and making the whole house fragrant. I want to go for a long walk along a ridge like in the old days visiting a friend’s aunt at the Russian River, then come in and sit on woven cushions by a piñon fire, in indigo blue slouch socks.
I’ve been dreaming of bulldogs, whatever that means. So I would add a bulldog by the fire, like the one belonging to our family friends in Santa Fe who liked to lie on people’s feet under the dinner table, keeping them toasty.
But what instead? I’ll enjoy the ordered kitchen and the rain, and cook something spicy and quick, since evening’s coming on, and maybe listen to a little Mozart.
image: Morocco Art and Architecture
Posted By Rihab Hilal