Recently days have been cool Fall-is-coming breezes, cold summer ale at a glowing bar with little wooden tables, reading on astrophysics with widened eyes, hugs not drugs, trying hard to smile at everyone and look up and wonder.

It gets harder and harder. There are no funny or fascinating stories. Only snatched remembrances of purple flowers or the blue sky or a moment of smiling-tipsy fraternity.

There have been roasted chicken legs with cherry tomatoes and new potatoes, the best kind of humble: simple, sincere, comforting, with sweet tomatoes stewed underneath and yielding little potatoes soaking up the savory juices of the chicken. Raw beetroot salad, jewel toned and earthy, in a citronette with summer basil; nutty quinoa with breakfast radish, avocado, tender green beans, chickpeas, and hints of cumin, fresh thyme, sweet balsamic. A summery favorite of potatoes, green beans, and tomatoes in vinaigrette.

I’m going to make mayonnaise this weekend, to pepper the coming week with tomato sandwiches— after all, Fall really is coming, I can smell it.

Making the most of Summer before its heat dissipates doesn’t feel like a huge priority, but making the most of tomatoes does. Making the most of the little things, and remembering them, and feeling appropriately nostalgic: made melancholy and roused by time’s passing. That’s what feels important. I am excited about sweet golden corn & smooth burgundy plums. I am excited about cool breezes & glassy skies, crook-necked squash.

Ok. So, I mostly feel ready for any and all changes. I am fed up and tired and sad. But then I remember that if you smile at everyone, things feel brighter, and that there are tomatoes in my fruit bowl, and that every day is as endless and instant in your life as the whole vast universe is.

And beautiful, you know.

Dark & strange, unknown; twinkling, bright, vicious, transitory, lawless, wondrous.