Peony’s that are now past their prime, but when they were blooming were stunning. Their petals remind me of the way wax curls on candles, though I’m realizing now that perhaps why I’ve been so drawn to the way the wax curls into lacelike patterns is because it reminds me of how peony petals unfurl.
There are scents in Missoula that feel so unique to this place, this valley. I wonder whether, like the word petrichor, if there is a word that perfectly captures the scent of the air here—if there is a word that contains it in its syllables and cadence. But maybe that’s the point—perhaps that’s why the scent of the air here is unlike any other place I’ve been or lived—because it can’t be captured or contained in a bottle or word.
My coffee tastes like cardamom this morning from the cardamom pods I ground in the coffee grinder as part of the Turkish coffee brownies I made for father’s day yesterday. I promised my dad I would make him brownies in August 2011 in exchange for him driving a friend and I 45 miles outside of town…flash forward nine year, more jokes than can be counted about when said brownies would appear, and many, many drives (including one 2,400 mile drive five weeks ago to bring me back to Montana for the summer) and he finally has his pan of brownies. Though I owe him probably closer to 2,400 pans, at least.
Hi!
Welcome to my blog where I explore the text and texture - and sometimes the overlap between the two - that make up the day-to-day.