An impatient day, sun beating through glass, car engine sighing. There is no such thing as a short cut.
But sitting outside in the last of the late evening light, everything slows in a good way. We eat dinner the colours of summer and the Italian flag. Two puff pasty squares heaped with pale coins of courgette, red slippery peppers, silky spring onions and crumbs of salty feta. A little mozzarella melted over the top for luck.
I think how my father-in-law might like this new recipe, this chance meeting of left overs, and I watch as the first star appears.
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