Instead

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