Night Kitchen, August

I am sitting on the stool at the kitchen bar eating scones while Jesse chows down on whatever is in his bowl and katydids sing outside the opened porch door in the dark woods out back.  I decide to draw whatever is in front of me;  hence the scones, a basil leaf, Jesse and his bowl, a pretty accordion folded booklet from my friend in Italy, written in her handwriting in what seems to be Dante's Italian.  I will need a dictionario.