Over the weekend, as I sat outside on the summer kitchen porch, I wrote. I had risen early that Saturday morning (unlike me), snuck about the house to make strong coffee and attempted to not wake anyone with my putterings. Let me be clear and honest, this was not out of respect to allow the family a sleep in, but rather selfishly to afford myself some quiet time. The strong coffee was grande in these early hours and I began my morning hiatus reading Nino Ricci’s The Origin of Species . I had waited in a rather long queue at the local library for this book, eagerly and excitedly signed it out when my turn came round, only to find a copy new-to-me for sale at the same library. Out of pure and raw need to possess (Buddha I continue to fail) I now have both copies in my possession. I don’t really understand my happiness at this. Anyways, I was reading away, and drinking my breakfast when I was inspired by the early morning air, the smell of basil nestled in the pots about me, the wind as i...