sergei mikhailovich prokudin-gorskii, color photographs at the turn of the century using four plates of each photo taken individually and then put together. In this one, it’s most obvious in the water.
The current item in my oven is a wheat crust pizza with olive oil and rosemary base, smoked mozzarella, prosciutto, basil, and brown butter sauteed chantrelles on Matt’s half (yuck!). It smells….oh my.
The leftovers of my dates stuffed with chevre, then wrapped in basil and proscuitto and broiled from election night.
This is a monumental election, make no mistake. The hope and potential for change is something that many of us can’t even begin to understand at this point- we just know it’s there, but we don’t really know what it’s going to look like. But we can’t ignore how scary this all is- for the comparisons to Kennedy, from seeing how radical the individuals and groups that oppose all of this are… there is so much hope, yes. But it’s a scary time. I can only hope that the transition is smooth and that the change we all need does come.
The clocks stopped at 1:17. A long shear of light and then a series of low concussions. He got up and went to the window. What is it? she said. He didn’t answer. He went into the bathroom and threw the lightswitch but the power was already gone. A dull rose glow in the windowglass. He dropped to one knee and raised the lever to stop the tub and then turned on both taps as far as they would go. She was standing in the doorway in her nightwear, clutching the jamb, cradling her belly in one hand. What is it? she said. What is happening?