Sylvia Plath wrote about honey, but in her day to day life she ate a lot of jam. This makes sense. Honey, with its quality of the miraculous, lends itself to poetry; jam is of the everyday. Lately, as the weather has turned cooler and more drear, I’ve wanted everyday things: plain black tea, novels I’ve already read. I think about
Thank you so much for this! (And I’m in a bonne maman raspberry jam phase btw 🍓)