I light five candles for the pagan holiday today, pick flowers from our courtyard garden. They are still out on the patio table. I peeked at them a bit ago, watching them through the kitchen window, something reassuring and ancient about the look of those five flames lighting the dark. It’s been like early summer in the middle of our Palm Springs winter, that delicious evening air that feels like velvet against your skin. Or maybe you are the velvet—it is hard to know. It reminds me of one evening years ago sitting in the warm pool at Tassajara, the water and the air and my skin all one temperature so you couldn’t tell where one began or ended, the closest I have ever felt to being literally one with air and sky and water. The days have grown warmer than I’d choose, wanting as I am to push summer off as long as I can, but how can I complain about this evening air? It is like January in Ajijic, bare feet braced against the railing of my third floor roost, my northern Californian self almost gloating. I was barefoot in January. Now seven winters later I am spoiled in this. But still, I want to linger, wallow in the sweet, soft ease of it. Happy Candlemas, everyone.
Both your writing and the photos are so lovely!
exquisite pictures and words again, Riba. Happy full moon to you.
Oh, thanks so much—both of you! I have missed having photos, but I haven’t been able to find ways to include them in a while. Maybe this will be the beginning of more again!
And happy full moon! 3:09pm today in our neck of the world. ;-)
Beautiful and evocative Riba.
Oh, thank you, Madhu. I am making a conscious effort to take that in. :)