[xoxoxoBruce]

A pin-point of light on the horizon,

The next day, back at the apartment where I was staying, I lifted the lid off a pot of boiling potatoes. Pungent ribbons of steam curled their way into my nose: the smell of newly dried cornstalks and wet earth mingled with something much sweeter, like that first bite of perfectly ripe peach. A tan one decorated with swirls of cherry tasted distinctly of roasted chestnuts. Another, with deep purple skin and white flesh marbled pink, had the flavor of caramelized beets. One daffodil yellow potato was unbelievably buttery. Many were more dense and filling than I expected.