Late summer in Northern California. The cool, misty mornings. The unbearably bright, hot sunny days. The break in the heat in early evenings. And then, dusk, edging slowly, slowly into night, growing ever cooler until the last glimmers of light are gone and the moon rises high in the sky.
Today was such a day.
Such a gorgeous, glorious day. I spent it outside with my family, basking in the sunshine. Then, later, I used the zucchinis from my friend’s garden to make zucchini bread. Moist, cinnamony and delightfully chewy, it filled the house with an incredible aroma. I had a Proustian moment. Flash back twenty years: me pulling up zucchini from our backyard garden as long as my forearm and twice as thick – monsters that had been allowed to grow unchecked. The look of surprise on my mom’s face when I brought them into the house that quickly morphed into one of happiness, as she realized the extent of the bounty. The loaves and loaves of bread she baked, and the delicious smell – summer’s almost over. Fall is on the wind.
I can almost taste it.