pretty peas please

When the wind blows before a storm, it's hot and heavy. Basking in heat wind, you want to close your eyes and listen: because the trees are talking back. They moan at the force—they feel tired from the hot July sun, too tired and loose to stand strong—they bend to and fro. They say, "Leave me alooooone, I want to rest... grooooan." And if, with eyes closed, you listen, the leaves sound like a rushing stream, breaking and falling.

Really the best thing to do when everything about you is stirring and rushing—and you're feeling quite unsettled—is to sit and be as still as you possibly can.

Oh what a way to spend the afternoon: to sit out on the porch during such a rushing wind with a glass of white Bordeaux and a basket of peas in your lap. I sat there just now and shelled my peas as quietly as I could. Sometimes I closed my eyes. Soon the sun came out, but I know it won't last for long. Not with such a hot and heavy and foreboding wind...

The peas, we'll have for dinner. They'll go quite nicely with Hannah's roast chicken and corn on the cob. The plump peas are from my parents' garden, where we've been for the last couple of days. As are these beautiful flowers that I plucked just as we headed back home. They're quite pretty, aren't they?