The intoxicating fragrance of peppermint tea bags, fresh from the box.
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About Me
- Christie
- Creative writer - Traveler - Archaeologist manque - Ardent lover of the play of light, the journeyings of time, things ephemeral and ancient
Popular Posts
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Darkness falls—and then there are candles in red glass cups, fires of piñon wood, carols. Cakes fall—and I remember in the lov... -
On my way back from campus, a fine flurry of yellow leaves. Dissettling December . . . image: Christie B. Cochrell, Leaves in Fountain -
A magnificent Don Carlo at the operahouse. Being grateful once again for Verdi, and for having had the good fortune to visit his home ... -
When the snow-girt earth Cracks to let through a spurt Of sudden green, and from the muddy dirt A sn... -
Just for a smile! “For a moment at least, be a smile on someone else’s face.” —Dejan St... -
On the stone table, a dying wasp. And a small drift of olive leaves, and then some cold peony tea in the painted Italian mug from wh... -
I love the names given to moons of different months. (And yes, I’ve always loved Pogo , which my dad loved before m... -
Away for the weekend, and gratefully back home here to the coast, where I'm nesting again. Making a chicken and farro salad with... -
Typically I wouldn't like the plaid chair—but somehow it's just right in that setting. As would I be! I can see a week ther... -
I always love finding a kindred spirit; kindred in words, in viewing the world. My happy discovery of the week is M...
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