Slices of baguette, rubbed with garlic, then toasted, then buttered. Enormous, brontosaurus style rib chops from the grass fed quarter beef we bought in the fall and are still eating. (And will be. There’s no end in sight, though we’ve done this before.) The spaghetti squash and turnips are both gifts to my present self from my past self. Last summer, I made the spaghetti squash with fresh little tomatoes, basil, and garlic, all from the farm.
I’m reminded that I heard a bird today outside my window and wished for it to be spring. I generally try to stay in the now, enjoy what is: if there’s one thing I can’t control, it’s surely the season. But no, more snow is coming. Not, no more snow is coming.