Suppertime
It's the onions simmering slowly
butter soft and golden
the smell of flame and fat
melting into one.
The gentle warmth of fireside
the lull of cornflower blue skies
deepened to a navy hue
laughter from the kids
water running
the burst of sensation in your
olfactory that says something
new has been added to the pot
and the seldom luxury of sitting
back and waiting, watching this
fabulous dance of preperation
that turns longing to craving
and craving to sustenance
and sustenance to a sweet
sort of peace.
Suppertime.
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| the hubs is cooking some gumbo WITH okra, gonna look like this :P |
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