Still Life Days

In June, mornings are eager to arrive and be greeted with breakfast. There is a ritual here, how the eggs curve perfectly in the palm of the hand, the careful cracking of the pristine white shell--the slide of yet another miniature golden sun into the bowl. I pull out the wire whisk and it briskly twirls, celebrating the many possibilities ahead.    

I was thinking the other day about how the old explorers of land and sea would keep journals about their adventures. They would describe the day’s happenings and sketch what they saw. I think this blog will be like that. It will be a place to marvel at the ordinary, traveling great stretches in the middle of taking a pause.