Monday, May 05, 2008

cherry, cinnamon, trumpet

The weight of blossom and a sturdy trunk.

In the pub the talk turns to cinnamon, a pretty word and a useful spice. We speak of cinnamon ice cream, and a medicine made of cinnamon and quinine (not so pleasant), and other uses, in cakes and curries. Michael says he likes the idea of carrots and leeks cooked with cinnamon. As we sit over our drinks, we think we can smell it and the cloves, which sometimes go with it.

This afternoon, it feels like summer. And sounds like it. From an open window, round a corner and a few houses distant, comes, through an open window, the sound of someone practicing scales on a trumpet. At least when it reaches me it is the sort of non-committal, idle sound, relaxed and sleepy, which you might expect on a May bank holiday.
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3 comments:

Barrett Bonden said...

Trumpets were invented so that the adjective plangent would find a home.

tristan said...

if you were sweet toothed, you could have your cinnamon in porridge with ginger and honey

Plutarch said...

True, about plangent. Yet the sound which I was hearing, though it might just have been described as complaining, was so much filtered by fences and intervening walls and shrubs, that it was neither loud nor reverberating, hence the charm which I found in it.
Cinnamon, honey and ginger sounds like a good combination.