I spoke with a dear friend earlier tonight. I confessed that I was run off my feet today and quite deranged after the weekend of boiling, though ticking off my to-do list with reasonable satisfaction in preparation for the last mag issues of the year and my imminent scarpering to Blessed Winter.
She advised me to take a cool drink of something refreshing. I had just the thing: pomegranate juice in the fridge after my weekend raid of the health food shop.
I poured a glass, drank it, and fell back nearly 35 years into hot desert cities with morning calls to prayer and mustachioed men handing sticky glasses slick with frost against the heat of the day and brimming with tart sweet pink amber juice to small children and admonishing all of us to respect our parents and play somewhere else.
I am now not entirely certain that I am taking the right trip ...
She advised me to take a cool drink of something refreshing. I had just the thing: pomegranate juice in the fridge after my weekend raid of the health food shop.
I poured a glass, drank it, and fell back nearly 35 years into hot desert cities with morning calls to prayer and mustachioed men handing sticky glasses slick with frost against the heat of the day and brimming with tart sweet pink amber juice to small children and admonishing all of us to respect our parents and play somewhere else.
I am now not entirely certain that I am taking the right trip ...