Sunday, October 19
The last several days have been a tousled mix of rough sand and jaunty stardust. My *attempt* at conjuring a verily belated birthday crêpe cake was an epic disaster (incriminating evidence is still stuck to the disenchanted stove) and, after what should have been a 10 minute excursion, I was overwhelmingly reminded why I avoid big supermarket chains in favour of my cosy local market. Also, Cookie Monster unfollowed me on Twitter. On the upside, I defied a beguiling fear of working with yeast; via challah bread + handsome buttery brioche cinnamon rolls (aka, Tom Hiddleston sticky buns), and I discovered a cosmic, new-to-me, coffee that's dark & smouldering without a bitter curtain call. Also, these cookies!!
Wednesday, October 8
September escaped through my pale fingers like a hungry will-o'-the wisp. I had so many plans for her; for us, for summer's bookend...a rustic (lopsided) sylvan honeysuckle + plum birthday cake, at least. Luckily I managed to conjure a few jaunty rabbits from September, before myopic October pushed its way, unannounced, through the door. Summer still has a hold on me, it flutters around my ribs as I pull reluctant arms through heavy cable knit sweaters. I'm ignoring, completely, the muted rustlings of winter beginning to tug opaque satin grey drapes across the bruised sky. Just a few more weeks of blissful calender ignorance, please.
Last month's favorite incantation was homemade honey marshmallow fluff. Honey marshmallow fluff (crème, if you're in a little black dress mood) that was gently + lovingly swirled through chocolate chip cookie dough. The cookies reminded me why I love cookies and tall glasses of milk with shy spoonfuls of clover honey. Feeling confident and riding the clicking, sticky heels of homemade marshmallow
Why Tom Hiddleston? I chose the title because of the way it flows off the tongue. It's not exactly seamless but it purrs and crunches and has a lush texture. Also, well...you know; maybe, perhaps, serendipitous-stratosphere permitting...
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.