Spicy Tomato Soup à la Provençal
August is like a tiny bridge between two seasons. Some days creak with thirst, and others have a faint nip in the air. Autumn's not quite here. Daily rhythms gently unfold like honey.
Wasps arrive out of nowhere, drowsily circling blackberries on the vine. I swat at them in the kitchen while I make crab apple jelly. Blackbirds, whose high-pitched tchup makes the leaves of the poplars rustle, gather in large flocks.
