October Grading

Sometimes, weighed down by the burdens of Beowulf essays and tests on The Odyssey, by personal narratives by seniors scrambling to get college applications done by November 1 (or in some evil cases, October 15–unconscionable UNC-Chapel Hill), I have no time for unwinding words or even snapping pictures. Instead I dream of the coolness of a San Francisco morning, Saturday at the Ferry Building Farmer’s Market. I take a deep breath, remember the glory of a wind whipping cold air, of fresh peach turnovers at the Frog Hollow fruit stand, of flowers in buckets, and then, refreshed, I turn once again with renewed vigor to the weltschmerz of the Anglo-Saxons. Somehow, California seems like the perfect antidote to monsters in meadhalls.

Sciabica Olive Oil


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