A small gathering of mid-week links for your enjoyment. xo

This salad.

These scones.

A love affair with ricotta.

Assume an eggplant.

Finding a way out of Depression.

Leaning in to trust.

And, lastly, I’ve been reading Annie Dillard’s The Writing Life lately, and it’s filled with gems. Witness, for example, this passage:

“The line of words fingers your own heart. It invades arteries, and enters the heart on a flood of breath; it presses the moving rims of thick valves; it palpates the dark muscle strong as horses, feeling for something, it knows not what. A queer picture beds in the muscle like a worm encysted- some film of feeling, some song forgotten, a scene in a dark bedroom, a corner of the woodlot, a terrible dining room, that exalting sidewalk; these fragments are heavy with meaning. The line of words peels them back, dissects them out. Will the bared tissue burn? Do you expose these scenes to the light? You may locate them and leave them, or poke the spot hard till the sore bleeds on your finger, and write with that blood. If the sore spot is not fatal, if it does not grow and block something, you can use its power for many years, until the heart resorbs it.”