I’m an early bird. I fall asleep at grandma-esque hours (reading in bed at 9:30, passed out by 10) and rise with the sun. Going to the farmer’s market on the weekend is one of my most precious pastimes. I’m an amateur cook (and that’s a bit of an overstatement), but I can’t get enough of the sights and smells of roughage being snapped, raw cantaloupe flesh, the murmurs of conversation and the infinite expanse of dogs and babies. It’s my own religion, really; who needs to go to a stuffy church when I can salivate over the fragrant, beautiful fruits of the earth? I worship at the altar of the tangible.
[Photos via marcinema on flickr]
