Yoga Journal
Slice of Summer
Outdoor pizza turns dinner into a community event.
by Lavinia Spalding (google+)
It's 75 degrees in Sonoma County, California, and your yoga class has just finished practicing on a wooden deck overlooking a 108-acre farm. The sun slowly dips into the ocean in the distance. The aroma of wood smoke is in the air, luring you through the herb garden to a patio where a crackling outdoor pizza oven awaits, its brick hearth just the right temperature.
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Carried Away
OZZY IS GIVING ME ATTITUDE—bumping against my pack, nosing ahead, blowing his semisweet-fermented breath in my face. I nudge him on the chest to keep him behind me as I inch down the steep sandstone, but he clearly has personal-space issues. I chose Ozzy . . .
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To the one who was supposed to get away
What I remember, 15 years on, is not your face or hair or hands, nor the beach or full moon above us that night. I remember the safety cone. It was bright orange, brand new, and perfectly incongruous, so we stared at it for seven hours. My friend swung by . . .
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To Old Johnny
Your shop was smaller than our kitchen but better stocked, the shelves on both sides of its entrance packed to the ceiling with shrimp chips and kimchi, dried cuttlefish, ramen noodles, and vacuum-sealed chicken drumsticks. It had no name, the shop—it was . . .
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Coming Full Circle
We’d been in the air about five minutes when our pilot, Cameron, pointed out the rainbow. It could be viewed, he said, from the right side of the helicopter — my side. I turned my head, knowing just what to expect. Since arriving on Maui a week before . . .
