Last night when I left the house to go to Laura and Adam's house for dinner a warm and thrilling wind was agitating trees and trash. I fairly bounced along, peering down side streets at bakeries where, during the week, pitas tumble down steep conveyor belts and are stuffed, still hot, into bags. (The other day one overeager pita overshot the landing bay and leapt to the ground. It was swept up and immediately eaten by the pita-packer.)
It was Friday, and the usually-lively bakeries were silent and shuttered. I was almost through town when I passed a tiny grocery store that often has a wooden box outside it with bags of pita. Lo and behold, there was one bag left. I bought it for three shekels and continued my jaunt to Laura and Adam's house.
I was so charmed by this quest, by the fact that it was warm and windy, by the fact that there was only one bag left, by the fact that I could buy the pitas in Arabic, and, (this accounts for the bounce in my step) the fact that I didn't have school the next day. This moment made me feel satisfyingly settled.
The big event of the day was going to Bethlehem to watch Sam and Olivia run in the Right to Movement 10k race. Here they are in front of the separation wall.
It was Friday, and the usually-lively bakeries were silent and shuttered. I was almost through town when I passed a tiny grocery store that often has a wooden box outside it with bags of pita. Lo and behold, there was one bag left. I bought it for three shekels and continued my jaunt to Laura and Adam's house.
I was so charmed by this quest, by the fact that it was warm and windy, by the fact that there was only one bag left, by the fact that I could buy the pitas in Arabic, and, (this accounts for the bounce in my step) the fact that I didn't have school the next day. This moment made me feel satisfyingly settled.
The big event of the day was going to Bethlehem to watch Sam and Olivia run in the Right to Movement 10k race. Here they are in front of the separation wall.
No comments:
Post a Comment