ratatouille

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Elliot writes about the 'still point of the turning world'.  Well I feel i'm in it. 

I chop up summer vegetables and put them all in the slow cooker which, after several hours will make them into something resembling a ratatouille.  I'm hedging my bets on the possibility that any readership I have won't be Provençal and therefore I might just get away with this aberration of a traditional, noble, southern dish.

I pour a glass of rosé and sit at the balcony.  The town is still.  The still point.  Summer is coming  at us directly from above.  The light is heat white.  There's no sound, shutters are closed tight.  It may as well be the middle of winter.

Except there's ratatouille.....