And I look across the water

And I think of all the things/

of what you’re doing/

And in my head/

I paint a picture

-Valerie, Amy Winehouse

We open the back door and let in all the light, all the heat.

Let it penetrate our bodies until our bones are warm, our limbs melt-y.

On afternoons like this one, when the sun reaches the point where it is directly shining on our little back patio, we hit the pause button and forget about time. We let go of everything to take it all in. These short spurts of heat that last only long enough to remember that afternoons such as these did once exist, in our youth, stretched over a period of a few months—those drawn-out summer afternoons staring bored, lazily, out at the sun. But here, here, we savor it. Me and that petit monstre of mine. 

After all, moments like these never really last that long.

In a couple of hours, spring’s fog will just roll right over us. 

“It was like when you make a move in chess and just as you take your finger off the piece, you see the mistake you’ve made, and there’s this panic because you don’t know yet the scale of disaster you’ve left yourself open to.” 

- Kazuo Ishiguro, Never Let Me Go

-kazuo ishiguro, remains of the day

If only life were as simple as waiting for the radiator to begin hissing in the early evening. Oh, Milli. 

I went for coffee and doughnuts. But the sun was shining so bright on Saturday morning, that Michelle and I stayed to stroll along the brightly colored doors of Temescal Alley, with its racks of highly curated vintage clothing, local artisan jewelry, and a store stocked with everything you’d need to build the perfect terrarium. 

In my haul: An amazing japanese 70s-80s cropped dolman sweater, an even MORE amazing (almost fluorescent in the light) purple hanging plant called a Wandering Jew, a candle, and a cool rooster print I framed as soon as I got home. 

Found at the back of my closet: The perfect off-white leather slip-on maryjanes for the days in-between the sun and the rain.

Waiting for my latte to be whipped, while drooling over dozens of fresh-out-of-the-oven loaves from Josey Baker Bread.

Back home with the radiator heat hissing, a quiet early morning absent of Milli, (who would have been all over my toast) free to enjoy this slice of walnut bread with almond butter, among cooking magazines and short fiction books.

Ready for the day.