It’s nice to spend
an afternoon working quietly at home, with the sun coming through my
hundred-year-old catsup bottle (yes!—or in fact a hundred and twelve or so by now) and my small Tiffany stained glass pane;
a wren popping in and out of the honeysuckle hedge outside; Earl Grey white tea
brewing in the glazed green pot; and no one interrupting me but myself, as
random thoughts occur and take me somewhere far away.
I’m trying to
figure out what to have for dinner, too, and whether I have the energy to stuff
an eggplant with lamb and sage and feta.
I say no, but will probably be sorry later.
image: Christie B. Cochrell, Catsup Bottle
Catching the Sun
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