There’s something soothing
watching pelicans fly,
encouraging peaceful absorption,
in the languor of their flight.
Flap, soar, soar, soar.
But moved too am I
in a way more empathetic,
listening for silent pairs
of industrious black ducks,
stealthy torpedoes moving fast and furious
wings barely scraping
the tender whitecaps,
trailing the echo
of their hearts
racing
across Tomales Bay.
#california #tomalesbay #westmarin (at Point Reyes National Seashore)
Autumn on the coast.
#california #pointreyes (at Point Reyes National Seashore)
Dehydrating hot peppers fast and furious.
#hotpeppers #gardenoverload #heatforwinter (at At Home in Napa)
Final baba ganoush of the season, smoky from a wood fire and puréed with extraordinary amounts of garlic and toasted cumin.
#babaganoush #sundaydinner (at At home in Napa)
Tile work, late 1800s.
#england #london #tile #design (at London, United Kingdom)
Butcher’s window.
#england #london #butcher (at Daylesford)
Mews.
#england #london #architecture (at London, United Kingdom)
My young friend by Andrew Wyeth, 1970. (at Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza)
A double, on the rocks with a slice of orange.
#spain #madrid #tradition #cocktails (at Madrid, Spain)
Wedding pictures with all of the celebrants on the church steps.
#spain #madrid #tradition (at Parroquia de Santa Bárbara)
Flowers preserved in alcohol.
#spain #madrid #ristorantecibo (at Puerta del Sol Madrid)
Sherry.
#spain #madrid #aperitivo (at Puerta del Sol Madrid)
Portrait of Baron H. H. Thyssen-Bornemisza by Lucian Freud, 1981
#spain #madrid #art (at Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza)
Woman in bath.
Roy Lichtenstein, 1963
#spain #madrid #popart (at Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza)
Ironwork.
#spain #valencia #ironworks #artisan (at Plaza de Toros de Valencia)
Tapas.
#spain #valencia #tapas #delicioso (at Vuelve Carolina (página oficial))
She set the massive plateau in the center of the tiny table, her wisps of arms revealing a sinewy musculature acquired from long years of carrying plates to and from the kitchen, her gauzy blue tee-shirt announcing the restaurant’s name, Chez Francois, in blocky white lettering. Balanced precariously on a metal stand on a lopsided table set on an ancient stone street next to a bustling harbor, the tray was weighty with crushed ice and layered with clams and oysters, whelks and mussels, periwinkles and lobster and as requested, an equal number of chunky lemon slices. In clipped English, she warned us not to eat from just one side, lest the entire tray and all its contents slip back into the ocean. Young and old, man and woman, accountant and farmer, married and lover sat elbow to elbow slurping oysters, peeling mussels and shrimp from their shells, and forking into plates of grilled dorado fished from Sete’s waters, a bottle of inexpensive Provençal wine protruding from dripping ice buckets set on tables clothed with a tear of butcher paper. A handsome Frenchmen, in that way that all Frenchmen are handsome, shucked oysters and clams without pause, a cigarette dangling from perfectly pouted lips. We ate in silence, only occasionally groaning with pleasure as the cold, salty ocean depths lingered on our tongues, while overturning emptied shells onto the melting ice, an internationally recognized symbol of triumphal bivalve bliss.
#france #provence #seafood (at Sete, France)
National bird refuge in Arles, France.
#france #camargue #arles #provence (at Parc naturel régional de Camargue)
Sky over Ligurian Sea.
#italy #liguria (at Porto di Imperia)
Abandoned farmhouse at sunset.
#italy #piedmont #architettura (at Bossolasco)