when jane austen said i suppose there may be a hundred different ways of being in love
...i felt that (plus a recipe for a strawberry galette)
the first warm day of spring, i came home from work while the sun was still out. that in itself felt like a prize of some sort. it was early in the evening so the air was a touch cooler. the sun was starting to set but my windows were open and the sunlight that poured in glinted off the waxy hardwood floors which blinded me. i could smell the breeze. my apartment smelled like warmth- it smelled like what mourning doves sound like - comforting, hopeful and melancholy.
i found vintage silver coupes at the thrift store with viv. i found a set of four and i almost shouted in excitement because i had been eyeing a similar set on etsy for awhile. as i gently balanced all 4 in a stack while walking to find viv and our shopping cart, i thought about what sweet treat i could make myself in this coupe. i thought about making a rich homemade vanilla ice cream speckled with vanilla beans. i thought about making a silky dark chocolate ganache to ooze over the double scoop of ice cream like lava. i thought about the crunch of rainbow jimmies. i thought about the plasticky appeal of a maraschino cherry. i thought about looking outside my window while savoring the ice cream sundae i made just for myself.
my fiddle fig tree is still green, alive and existing with me in my apartment. i’m not sure i’m giving her what she needs but i trust her enough to let me know and i trust myself enough to read the signs.