Sunday, September 28
Now, as the wind courts a glacial nuance, I wear my hair short enough to expose a wide forehead and seashell ears to the elements (timing has never been a strong suit). When tresses brush against my neck, i feel constricted...pulled too fiercely against the earth. In another life I must have been one of Titania's faeries (Peaseblossom or Cobweb?). Shorn + tousled hair suits my elfin stature & distracted countenance.
I have my father's eager, aforementioned, protruding ears and vast forehead. Mayhaps luckily, I also inherited his propensity for wistful, impromptu daydreaming. It's usually when I'm lost in enchantment that I come up with romantic confectionery ideas and chimerical flights of fancy; usually Tom Hiddleston playing Recuerdos de la Alhambra on classical guitar or sweetly verdant schemes involving the planting of moss & honeycomb on the cold, north-facing side of my house. While soaking up one of September's rare summerling days, I had a savage craving for something peachy enough to hold the warm lioness of August in its grip, whilst acknowledging the cosy blazing ambiance of autumn. I'm not a massive fan of fried food, but, every now and then, we need the unwavering comfort that arrives in the form of crisp sugar-drenched doughnuts.
Friday, September 19
Their summer romance
over, the lovers
to each other
the way the green
to their trees
in the strange heat
of September, as if
there will be
~ Linda Pastan, from "The Months"
September drifts through the year like a distracted moth. It's a manic 30 days and I often find myself equally disoriented. It feels as though I'm trudging through an ethereal bayou; unfulfilled hopes are willingly tangled in summer's beckoning reeds as idealistic eyes catch the first willowy blush of leaves and the promise of a new chapter. My heart can't process which season, what ambiance, it wants to embrace.
This hungry fidgeting month, with its quiet longing for a place to land, still manages to put on a marvelous show year after year. September hides her sorrow behind a sweet honeycrisp breeze and smoldering sunsets. Her rain, though not as verdant and lush as June's, is soft and cosy and drips with moss covered sylvan aromas. I empathize with my mercurial birth month, we're so very much alike with our unquenchable ache for the intangible (and stubborn reticence to simply reach for errant helpful branches).
We're also, apparently, besotted with honey. September is National Honey month! I don't bake about it often but honey is an infinite source of comfort + pleasure. It's been a warm, edible blanket since early childhood days spent with Winni-the-Pooh (and my beloved Eeyore!).
Wednesday, September 10
"Bid the last fruits to be full;
give them another two southerly days,
press them to ripeness, and chase
the last sweetness into heavy wine."
~ Rainer Maria Rilke, Autumn Day (translated by Galway Kinnell)
September, my birth month. Growing up I unfairly wove September into the obscure first-day-of-school ambiance. It carried the scent of pencil shavings and new plastic binders - it felt awkward; an uncomfortable silence, punctuated by the scrapping of chairs on shiny linoleum floors. Now that I've outgrown itchy plaid uniform skirts and falling knee socks, I'm in love with September. It's mercurial and temperamental, but, when in a benevolent mood, September is a magnificent host of two seasons.
Wednesday, September 3
I fell in love with The Tempest my freshmen year of high school, during a performance at a local theater. The play was ethereal; ambient mist, primal music, sylvan costumes and lush acting...I'm convinced there was a metallic taste of magic in the air each time Ariel took the stage. I was so enamored, I accidentally dropped a box of lemon heads. The cacophony made by each tiny candy striking an unbearably hard wood floor was deafening (I was mortified!). Thankfully the resulting frigid glares were fleeting, and confused...my eyes made a subtle glance towards the person sitting next to me. The play continued and I imagined myself in the role of Miranda, or Ariel. As Prospero was delivering his infamous epilogue, I was smitten, completely, especially knowing that the speech may have been Shakespeare's adieu.
"Now my charms are all o'erthrown
and what strength I have's mine own,
which is most faint: now 'tis true,
I must be here confined by you,
or sent to Naples. Let me not,
since I have my dukedom got
and pardon'd the deceiver, dwell
in this bare island by your spell;
But release me from my bands
with the help of your good hands:
gentle breath of yours my sails
must fill, or else my project fails,
which was to please. Now I want
spirits to enforce, art to enchant,
and my ending is despair,
unless I be relieved by prayer,
which pierces so that it assults
mercy itself and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would pardon'd be,
let your indulgence set me free."
~ William Shakespeare (The Tempest, act 5, epilogue.)
Initially I was only going to include a few lines from Prospero's speech, but it's so lovely in its entirety - chopping his farewell into pieces would be barbaric. I'd like to think that summer, if she could speak, would deliver an equally robust swan song before handing the zephyrs to autumn.
Tuesday, August 26
Summer held its breath until the 13th hour. Finally, upon exhalation, the weather is sticky, languid as molasses...deliciously perfect. I'm odd to relish humidity and that spot on the small of the back which never completely dries during (and after) meandering through a non-air conditioned farm house. But I am in love with summer,
My next recipe, if I can stop eating the star player, will be a raspberry something. For now, as you can see, I'm still riding the sanguine blueberry wave. Scones don't require too much baking sorcery but they are difficult to photograph. No worries, I will not bore you with more photography angst, but I hope it's okay to experiment with both light & dark backgrounds/moods. My cheeky heart inadvertently strays to the dark side, but I'm attempting to build bridges with the bright and airy.