Tonight, the house smells like warm sangria. I heated a bottle of Black Swan Shiraz with sugar and citrus zest, then gently simmered five farmers' market pears in the ruby liquid. Tomorrow, I'll make a pistachio pastry cream, and a sweet buttery tart crust. I'll assemble a rosy and green tinged tart, a work of art in itself, to take to wine club. We'll be drinking Riesling. Mmmm.
Now, I'm sipping tea—Margaret's Hope Darjeeling, my favorite—and mulling over a new writing project. I've been searching for a topic to write for Wake, a journal of Great Lakes thought and culture. And tonight, a topic, touching on both sides of the Lake, appeared in the way great ideas often do: in a random moment, spurred by one image or word.
I'm inspired.
And tranquil.
And...sleepy.
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