The end of summer + a (second!) full moon seems to have banished my more light-hearted self to the root cellar, kicked the door shut and hit the lights.
Or, maybe it was reading this biography in two straight nights (note: not the recommended approach)-- damn, that boy *sigh* -- and it was a bit too eerie just how many criss-crossing paths our lives had-- so maybe that has added to the melancholy.
I'm thinking Daisy's approach to the sight of turning leaves is the one I should follow.
Daisy: um, I think I'm gonna hurl.
hmmm, rolling in the grass til I puke sounds like so much fun, but I think I'm gonna stick to what's been working for me: roam the fields with my camera and let my head go soak in the pond.
Will I go a bit overboard with the red fescue?
Seriously. If you are gonna do some haying, by all means have a bright blue tractor and red baler--
-- if that doesn't set the world to right, go back to the kitchen and start chopping vegetables from the farmer's market.
Henry: oh, you're headed to the kitchen? mind bringing me a treat?
Henry: nothing fancy-- perhaps a poached egg on grilled brioche or a watercress sandwich, or wait, how about a few scallops wrapped in bacon and do you have any of those little cheeses? I just love those. . .