Today: food, drink, drink, food, drink, drink, food. Drink. Food. That's both it and so far beneath it. There's nothing else to say now, because it's time to sleep.
A Sunday morning postscript: last night's menu: lamb and chicken wrapped in grape leaves, skewered and grilled; zucchini, skewered and grilled; potatoes and onions, skewered and grilled; asparagus, grilled (but not skewered). A marvelous salad. Delicious wine. Delicious company. A dessert on fire (designedly so). And this morning: parents sleeping on the couch, tiny birds riffling through the lawn, roosters crowing somewhere nearby, a hazy sunrise beyond the eastern trees, and my porch inimitably embracing it all.
(Meanwhile, yesterday afternoon, my father, approaching Gambier from the north, found some cows and stopped to take their pictures. In case you don't know, I'll tell you: some cows are not only remarkably photogenic but even remarkably photophilic.