Flores, Flores...

This has been the kind of week that has made me, today, want to do nothing much more than look over pictures of flowers that I've taken.

While I'm not an artist of the caliber of say, dear Thombeau, I do like the occasional snap.  These coy little dears are from a quiet corner of the Palatine Hill in Rome.  We've only been to Italy once, but we mean to go back, some day, once I'm fit to travel again.

Even the weather has conspired to intensify my general sense of moody broodiness.  It's been heavy and damp, lending a feeling of impending gloom even when the sun was out this afternoon as I walked the dogs.  This evening, the storm at last has broken, and it's a doozy - a cacophony of lightning, thunder, roaring winds and pelting rain.  I've been fixing our supper (late, you know - yes, it's Ramadan once again; I can't believe I haven't mentioned that), every minute certain that the lights will go and I'll be stuck, as I'm still not quite up to much chopping, let alone the kind of fine dicing and beyond for which I've come rely on the Ninja and stick blender.

The bleakness, though, is far from unrelieved.  With the dark falling early, the apartment is all the cozier, and our public radio, in a rare fit of serendipitous programming, has been playing the Beethoven Nine, a choice both rousing and encouraging as the storm rages.  I've made a very nice avocado-dill dressing for this evening's salad, and a terribly healthy dessert of, among many other things, oats, honey, and fresh puréed cherries (I don't know about you, but to me this has been a banner year for cherries).  Ludwig even seems to be calming the dogs, which is a good thing, as the emergency weather system has regularly been chiming in and setting them off.

Now it's time to go and wake the Mister from his pre-fast-breaking nap.  Later, I expect we'll watch a Miss Fisher mystery.  As long as the power holds and we don't have a tornado, I think we'll have a lovely evening.  I think I feel the doldrums lifting already...