July in Italy
Summers in Italy are a thing to behold. I'm fairly certain the phrase, "La dolce vita" was first coined during an Italian summer...perhaps in July...I stumbled across this poem by Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz, and thought it rather a fitting The figs we ate wrapped in bacon.The gelato we consumed lustily:coconut milk, clove, fresh pear.How we’d dump hot espresso on it,just watch it melt, licking our spoonsclean. The potatoes fried in duck fat,the salt we’d suck off our fingers,the eggs we’d watch get beaten’til they were a dizzying bright yellow,how their edges crisped in the pan.The pink salt blossom of prosciuttowe pulled apart with our hands, meltingon our eager tongues. The green herbswith goat cheese, the aged brie pairedwith a small pot of strawberry jam,the final sour cherry we kept politelypushing onto each other’s plate, saying,No, you. But it’s so good. No, it’s yours.How I finally put an end to it, plucked itfrom the plate, and stuck it in my mouth.How good it tasted: so sweet and so tart.How good it felt: to want something andpretend you don’t, and to get it anyway.
— Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz, “July”Here are a few pictures I've snapped this summer so far...
