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
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