night on mull
back in our elegant room, we changed for dinner and wandered out into what seemed more a living room, not someone else's, but our own, complete with handcrafted crescent-shaped coffee table evoking the shape of the beach, still with remnants of its bark. we were a little early for our reservation, so we picked up books from the shelves, and the one i was reading again referenced that clan maclean of mull, a subject which continues to captivate me.
the host, matthew, brought us a glass of wine while we perused our books (no hurry - very un-new york), and later led us into the dining room, which was lit exclusively with candles and a fire, giving off a warm glow to the dark wooden tables and chairs. six tables? eight? no more. yet each were contained in individual, occupied worlds, and spaced in such a way that their boundaries were in tact.
the meal proceeded with the same elegance and panache i was by now growing accustomed to, the pinot noir complementing the goat cheese tart and perfectly dressed green salad, as well the wild salmon and haddock gratin. i wish i could recall the meal in more detail, but the ambience subverted my efforts to do so. we lingered in that dining room a long time, i think largely because it was so comfortable, conducive to finishing fragmented conversations, and starting new ones, synapses firing in all directions. or could it be that i just didn't want this day to end? perhaps.
crawling into the 300-count sheets that night, i tried to write down what we'd done so far. it was my first attempt at that, and not too successful. what i realized was this incredible sense of fullness, and that there really was no way to properly document a return to one's metaphysical and genealogical origins - no way to depict the stirrings in the soul that frequently brought with them unmitigaged lachrymose joy.
still, i persist in the attempt.
the host, matthew, brought us a glass of wine while we perused our books (no hurry - very un-new york), and later led us into the dining room, which was lit exclusively with candles and a fire, giving off a warm glow to the dark wooden tables and chairs. six tables? eight? no more. yet each were contained in individual, occupied worlds, and spaced in such a way that their boundaries were in tact.
the meal proceeded with the same elegance and panache i was by now growing accustomed to, the pinot noir complementing the goat cheese tart and perfectly dressed green salad, as well the wild salmon and haddock gratin. i wish i could recall the meal in more detail, but the ambience subverted my efforts to do so. we lingered in that dining room a long time, i think largely because it was so comfortable, conducive to finishing fragmented conversations, and starting new ones, synapses firing in all directions. or could it be that i just didn't want this day to end? perhaps.
crawling into the 300-count sheets that night, i tried to write down what we'd done so far. it was my first attempt at that, and not too successful. what i realized was this incredible sense of fullness, and that there really was no way to properly document a return to one's metaphysical and genealogical origins - no way to depict the stirrings in the soul that frequently brought with them unmitigaged lachrymose joy.
still, i persist in the attempt.
posted by mollygloom at 8.10.06
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