I have returned to the hamlet of my childhood. The tiny village is bordered by hedges of white flowers aglow in the moonlight ― masses of ho...

Surrounded by a field of white rocks roughly the same size and shape, the black basalt tsukubai murmurs. It is like glass, polished smooth a...

Wind carries the scent of a woman in the Alsace region of France across the Atlantic. She is a rose held to the branch. Masses of verdant le...

The enameled plums are plump and deeply blue on a creamy underglaze. Camellias bloom over the edges. Three centuries haven’t wilted the pale...

My father was a fisherman. Before dawn, he surfcast off the coast of Montauk from a favourite boulder he liked to stand on. Ten years afte...

The tomatoes – seemingly ripened and reddened by the summer day – are cored and quartered. The holiest of trinities – fresh garlic ground by...