An open door says, “Come in.”
A shut door says, “Who are you?”
Shadows and ghosts go through shut doors.
If a door is shut and you want it shut, why open it?
If a door is open and you want it open, why shut it?
Doors forget but only doors know what it is
doors forget.
– Carl Sandburg
Brazilian afternoon in South Wimbledon. The restaurant was more like a café; very informal and very small. Food was distinctively average but the chicken hearts were on point and the caipirinha heavy on cachaça, as it should be. Also great coffee, and my dessert (oddly went for chocolate cake) didn’t disappoint. Next time I’ll try pastel and the sausage with fried cassava.
We parked under a tree covered in tiny white flowers and loaded with bumblebees. I managed to control my panic enough to be able to get some photos and videos, but as I was getting back into the car I noticed several dead ones on the floor. Bumblebees tend to form couples for life and look after the grubs together. The idea of baby bees waiting in vain for their parents to come home made me incredibly sad.
So good to see the city coming back to life. And without the crowds that used to make it hellish. Tourists are needed and need to come back, of course – but for now, while no one is looking, I’ll say yes, it’s that little bit nicer not having to battle hoardes of people everywhere. I just hope it won’t last.
Had to prune the photinias before they swallowed up the house. Now I have a bright front room again, but on the other hand I can see outside and become aware of humans – oh well.
In better news, it’s cherry season. At least in the supermarket. Fresh, plump, shiny and sweet, that shade of blood red that would make a perfect nail polish. I ate some sitting in the garden and watching the wooden bench that I need to repaint, the deck that needs to be cleaned, the plants that need to be pruned, the slugs that need to be dealt with, the shed that needs to be finished and realize that I forgot how to relax. The cherries, however, were delicious. I threw the seeds in the garden, knowing they won’t grow.
The petunias are going wild and I wish I had bought more/planted in a bigger pot. They’re annuals and when the long flowering season ends they’ll only serve as fertilizer, but their ephemeral and brightly coloured existence will have fulfilled its mission.
And speaking of nails. Ouch. This is gonna hurt for a few (several) days (weeks) now.
Hello Lolla