this morning, the sky was cloudless, a slightly bleached blue, and there was bright sunlight and a cold wind running down church street. i sat for the first time in the living room and read the new yorker over a large mug of hot tea (peets's 2007 holiday offering, from margaret last year). i found the auxiliary input cable for dave's sound system and plugged in antonio janigro's version of the bach solo cello suites (my preferred rendition, better than even the rostropovich that i've listened to -- the music is oceanic in depth, and janigro's pace and control suits it), then started peeling tiny mandarin oranges now being sold by the happy boy farm stand at the noe valley farmers' market. these oranges have segments swollen with juice but are still intensely flavoured, sugary and with such high acidity and so much volatile oil that they're a bit of a Taste Explosion. they were cold, sharp, and bright, like the room. if doubt remains that citrus can be a minor form of the religious experience, see mfk fisher's account of tangerine consumption.
Dec 23, 2007
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