...when the cover is lifted.
Have I mentioned that we have not seen the sun since we landed early on Sun(SUN)day morning?
What is this, England?
Above, not England, not New York, but Cape Town, under the tree, a lunch for four, made by my mother. Mushrooms a la Grecque, a family staple (I ate too many with the juice spooned over that brown bread), and tomatoes with mozzarella and basil from the garden. Summer food. First hidden beneath the gosammer-light throw that she stitched together from vintage handkerchiefs I had found in a junk shop on Brooklyn's 5th Avenue in the days when a junk shop could afford the rent on Brooklyn's 5th Avenue. They were neatly tissue-wrapped in a box, and handsewn, forgotten from long ago. The butter in the dish is from Oep ve Koep in Paternoster - we bought four bricks - and I think it's the nicest butter I have ever eaten. Plaasbotter (farm butter), heavily salted and slightly tangy, possibly cultured.
May you find some sunshine, somewhere, even if it is within. Sometimes you have to dig away to find where you buried it for later.