Do you ever crave colors? Tonight, I turned to the stove knowing only that the pasta began with purple.

Soon, slender purple kale stems slicked with olive oil rested on top of strands laced with minced raw garlic from purplish paper shells, roasted cauliflower, and Italian tuna packed in oil from an oblong tin, a treasure from the cupboard.

This particular purple kick can be traced to a fish taco on Saturday at the Brooklyn Flea, where purple cabbage was a vehicle for tomatillo and crema sauces—I consider the fish taco my lucky flea market charm that led to a handmade vintage dress in a piscine pattern (I’ll point it out in a future post).

Heading into Manhattan, I watched as words floated in the rain as this artist set up mobiles in Union Square, the adjectives attaching themselves fleetingly to tourists as they ducked past, and I walked into the wholly wonderful new film about fantastic foxes that felt as vintage as that dress.

On Sunday, I stepped past Sweetgums in their frantic final burst of color,

marveling at the difference a side makes (I tend to like the B side of leaves),

and the fruit that I have never understood.

In DUMBO in Brooklyn, still suffering from lobster withdrawal from my stay in Maine, I yielded to lobster grits at the Red Hook Lobster Pound stand.

And looking at this order much like the red and yellow sides of leaves, I saved the lobster pieces for last, eating the golden grits around them bound with butter and Parmesan.

Now I sit and mull the Thanksgiving menu for next week here in Brooklyn, sorting complementary colors for the full spectrum of food cravings I expect to arrive for a holiday focused on food, the family we inherit, and the family we choose…

I spent yesterday walking Brooklyn, admiring costumed children celebrating Halloween,

concentrating on painting pumpkins and unwrapping candy,

while their parents picked gourds to decorate tables and Brooklyn stoops,

as the foliage in New York began to look like the Maine leaves of last weekend.

In Camden, Maine for the PopTech 2009 conference, I found it hard not to stop and reflect when the afternoon light outlined edges.

Every street has a brilliant tree, inviting long walks to find more.

Last Sunday, on Ethan and Rachel’s good advice (they were incredible livebloggers for PopTech 2009), I drove from Camden to Belfast, Maine, about half an hour away.

I passed through Lincolnville Beach, with its blue, blue water and sat in the quiet,

then happened upon raw milk near happy chickens running around a large yard.

Fortified, I arrived in Belfast and ordered a lobster melt (I would recreate with: thick slices of toast, lobster piled high, a dollop of homemade aioli to cook through, slight grating of Parmesan, all broiled for a few minutes with tomatoes, if desired),

then walked the Belfast shops before opening the door of Scoops and Crêpes (I join Ethan and Rachel in highly recommending), filled with families sharing sundaes, walls papered with drawings, and long menus of crêpes, ice cream specials, and flavors.

This is the turtellini, a warm popover with pecans and two scoops (pumpkin ice cream instead of vanilla) under chocolate and butterscotch sauces.

Delighting in the difference between well-preserved and precious towns, I kept pulling over on the way back to see what was shining on the side of the road.

And with a last lobster roll on Monday, I left coastal Maine,

chasing the colors back, that subtle trick played by Fall…

As part of the faculty for the PopTech Social Innovation Fellows program (they are an incredible group) that is brought together before the PopTech conference, I am staying a little above Camden, Maine, near Lincolnville Beach.

In the morning, it is quiet around our wooded cabins and quiet on the beach.

Yesterday I drove to the Camden Farmers’ Market, noticing the paint wearing away on the road, and smiling as I approached the murmur that always accompanies local food vendors setting up;

next week marks the penultimate market for the season, and wonderful local goods were on offer—I almost hugged this seller for obvious reasons (I am a calcium fiend), and the milk itself is the yellowish color and thickness of fresh cream.

My friend and colleague Keryn arrived and introduced me to the smell of Sweet Jenny,

and in her wonderfully energetic way, began to talk warmly about the dedicated sellers and local festivals—all reasons I’d like to be in Camden more often.

At Peacemeal Farm, I bought tiny brussel sprouts and listened while locals

debated which type of potato was the right choice for specific fish,

near jugs of cider,

papery bouquets,

and tables selling vegetables and wool.

Impossible to pick one of the many colored scarves,

soon dancing began, the music competing with a wandering flutist.

I was more interested in the charcuterie, considering this soppressata and deciding to try the salami with orange peel,

as reaching into the cooler with the beautiful bacon, after making the seller laugh that I had eaten a pig ear sandwich once (he was selling them to feed to dogs).

On the way out, there were baskets perfect for filling with market produce,

and dried arrangements with milkweed,

hard squash and soft pumpkins,

and lovely mushrooms still joined in the large mass they grow in on trees.

Out of the pastries at Atlantic Baking Company,

I picked a swirl that held apples and spices in its crispy layers, and spreading it with local raw butter,

sipping that beautiful raw milk, I headed back to sit and listen to the waves…

As we corner in on a long weekend, the rains have increased to their usual frequency for this time of year, bringing out spiders,

and reviving plants I watched wilting earlier in the week.

Here’s to a few days framed with sun, as we turn toward restorative summer—

Last night, I watched eight philosphers riff on meaning in the film Examined Life playing at the Miami Beach Cinematheque on Espanola Way. Likely I’ll frequent this ongoing film festival and the crêpe place next door, where my fabulous friend Dianna and I discussed the film, and deliberations, community spaces, and the transient realities of Miami.

This morning, I woke hoping to find the purple, diaphanous dress of my dreams (where is that sewing machine?) in the closet to match these Janus-like water hyacinths that bloom in the ponds around the magic cottage in April and August.

Last year, I compared these to a data visualization using the Many Eyes tool; this year, upon closer examination, even the stems seem to sparkle—stunning the closer you lean in (see the larger version here).

From one stem, the petals face in many directions (Janus was the god of doors and beginnings) like the stance scholar Kwame Anthony Appiah takes in the film and his work that the cosmopolitan citizen understands multiple ideologies and ways of sorting the world as equally valid.

And in our continuing coverage of spider web season, here’s a new web for your Saturday—