I always look forward to the first days of September when the night air turns a little cooler. For many reason, more than any other time of the year, this for me, is when I am regenerated and more alive.
Cooler night air means my orchids start their spiking period and begin the long, luscious and luxuriant journey towards blooming.
Cooler night air means I can cover myself with my warm flokati bedcover at night. (It makes me feel like I'm living in some prehistoric cave). Instinctual. Alert.
Cooler night air gives me the perfect reason to make a pot of soup.
Its universal, our love of something warm simmering over the flame. For me, it usually involves a whole chicken, carrots, celery, onions, bay leaf, peppercorns and a truly great book.
Other times, its mung beans and whole pieces of ginger, browned garlic and a hot steaming bowl of brown rice.
Or, at other times, a smoked ham shank, potatoes, tomatoes, beans, fresh oregano from my herb pots and maybe a sausage and some small bits of macaroni.
Wherever there is soup simmering at home, home becomes more than home. It becomes your safe place where dreams are dreamt, thoughts crystallize, the journals go deeper and the view out your window of autumn leaves winding their way past is your perfect movie. On the CD player, Van Morrison sings "I Hunger for your Love". I am home body and soul.