this lily caught my eye on the way up my driveway today. i fell immediately in love with her “take me or leave me” attitude, with her open face, and her arms thrown wide. she’s at the end of her life, and is still finding a way to celebrate.
tiger lily (Lilium lancifolium)
i love the name of this hydrangea, and not just because f scott fitzgerald is a saint paul native. every time i look at these petals i think about daisy buchanan and jordan baker sitting in that big room with the curtains billowing in the wind, wearing dresses in gatsby pink tuile.
gatsby pink hydrangea
you are feeling very, very sleepy. don’t fight it. stare into the onions. your eyes want to close. don’t fight them. they want to close. close your eyes. close your eyes. close your . . .
the region in france where we spend most of our time is near the mediterranean, where wild fennel grows like weeds along the side of the road in summer. on hot days, men at cafes order pastis, and the air above their tables smells like anise and fennel. that’s how our kitchen smelled as we sliced this fennel root today. the aroma lasted all day, sweet and mild, and transporting.
these red peppers turned into a collection of little thought clouds. i would fill mine with the following thoughts, “where will i take still blog next?” “don’t forget the credit card bill is due in a week.” “fifty percent chance of rain tonight close the windows.” “first jewelweed just bloomed in the cattails.” “i wonder if joe will start school with distance learning.” “check the plant press for still blog inspo.” “why so many fruit flies this year?” “what should i read after zadie smith?” “there’s that bird again. didn’t we decide it was a yellow-bellied flycatcher?” “omg clean sheets tonight can’t wait.”
red pepper slices