I used to be able to tune out all the sounds in a room and focus only inside my head. This led to a bad startling habit … being so far gone anyone from the outside world would frighten me if they intruded. I'm a little jumpy that way.
The rain was back by the time I left the gym today and left raindrops on the fence posts like spiderwebs in an iron woods. What light there was sparkled through the clinging drops and made me think of the beauty of an ice storm. I tried to take the picture, but I failed.
I don't miss ice storms, though I must say I'm glad to have known their beauty.
I'm planting an herb garden this year, designing my own planter and placing it outside the window in the family room, which is connected to the kitchen. I thought I would have it in place by now, but won't allow myself the freedom of creation while the tax files are still spread across my desk. Deadlines there, and I face only the deadline of nature with the herbs.
I did lust over some spearmint today. I can't think of what I'd do with it, unless it would be to flavor mojitos. And I'm not particularly fond of mojitos. But it was a nice plant.
I let myself have only one glass of Chianti tonight. Homemade lasagna. I know, it is overkill, but when all I can create is in the kitchen, that's what I'll do. When I went to find the recipe though, I found that the page was missing from the cookbook. It's some thirty years old, can't hold it against the book. So I had to try to remember the recipe, something I've made many times but never really worried about needing to remember. I know I had all the ingredients, but the proportions seemed wrong. It tasted fine, but it wasn't what I expected.
So there is your metaphor for tonight, the things we remember to make the things we want, getting all the pieces right, but missing it somehow. The result isn't bad, just not what we expected.
The iris are blooming in the garden I planted last year, bordered by Mexican heather…the same shades of purple repeating in the tiny blooms and the orchid-like iris. I thought about picking them, bringing them inside to brighten the gloomy rooms.
But I didn't. I let them bloom.
11:09/
1 comment:
ugh, spam!
here's a real comment: Your metaphors are more like parables and they speak volumes of life and living it.
Keep writing.
Now I'll go off and think of cool spearmint, ice crystals forming ice storms drop by frozen drop, and the mystery of the missing lasagna recipe, and ... wine.
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