Puttering

The Rev. left me to my own devices this evening, and although I enjoy spending time with him, I also like to be alone, especially now, with daylight savings time in full swing, and the still light of mid-spring still shining at 6:30 in the evening. I am sure countless writers and poets have written verse and tome about the magic of late afternoon light, but I love the late afternoon on my patio, especially with a glass of wine in hand and a lovely meal about to be tasted. Call it the angle of the sun, the deep straw color of the light, the seeming peace in the air; it is my favorite time of day, the fragile hour between daylight saying goodbye and night making its entrance.

I puttered in the kitchen this evening, and sauteed some red and orange bell peppers, garlic, and shallots in a cast iron skillet with a little sugar and balsamic vinegar. I piled the combination on top of a pita with provolone cheese and ran it under the broiler until it was bubbling. With my feet propped up on a chair outside, I sipped and nibbled and pretended I was on a porch swing in Tennessee, a terrace in Tuscany, a courtyard in New Orleans. I appreciate the climate of California; I just wish I could afford it. Spring and summer are not my favorite times of year. I appreciate Spring, because of its promise of rebirth and the gentle days and evenings it gives, but I detest summer, at least at mid-day, with its garish heat and light. But 5:00 comes and the sun takes a magical cast of golden ribbon, and we take one more step to closing a day, a month, a season and the worries and the cares of the day can wait until tomorrow, and the night will make them seem not as important, not as magnified.