Soup
- At September 16, 2010
- By Dian Day
- In Home
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Almost everything in the soup comes from the garden: tomatoes, onions, green and purple basil, oregano, lemon thyme, and Italian parsley. Thrown in the pot with a few cups of stock and a little honey, this bounty will become the best fall soup in which one can still taste summer. A fresh, hot season, sliding down our throats like recent memory.
A Change of Weather
- At September 13, 2010
- By Dian Day
- In The Big Backyard
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The dog dances in the downpour, alternating between her own uncontainable excitement and a persistent confusion about why I, her human, have suddenly chosen to abandon my aversion to getting soaking wet. I can’t explain that I have no choice, having spent the previous hour widening the road; innumerable small trees and branches lay across my exit, and must be moved before I can drive out. But her joy is like a virus, and soon enough we are both dancing in the downpour, celebrating the rain.
Horizon
- At September 08, 2010
- By Dian Day
- In Travelling
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In the forest there are short views, close encounters, framed vistas in variants of green, leaf-edged patches of sky. At the seashore the length and width of the view is always a surprise. We turn our heads back and forth along the two-toned horizon, awed by the quantity of blue.
Late Summer
- At September 06, 2010
- By Dian Day
- In The Big Backyard
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The edges of leaves dried out and curled; rivers ran thinly over grey stones; brooks dried to damp patches in the fields. Flower petals shook and dried and fell like coloured rain onto the cracking earth. Cow vetch clamoured in the hay fields. Earwigs chewed in the corn.
It was the day in late summer when the weather turns and suddenly there are endings everywhere, despite the bright sunlight. There was a fierce wind that blew all day, dragging the snapping sheets from the laundry lines all the way up and down the Shore Road. The rusty-hinged cries of swinging gates rose on the swirling wind like departing birds.
~from The Clock of Heaven
Shade and Shake
- At September 02, 2010
- By Dian Day
- In The Big Backyard
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Even though it is early morning, the wind blows a fierce heat through the trees, and dry leaves rattle on thin branches. We keep to the shady paths, the dogs detouring to the ponds and throwing themselves in. They swim with both exuberance and desperation. They come back dripping, and I wait for them to shake and shower me with cool relief.