I don’t mean to state the obvious. But the thing is that life can be viewed as existence: get up in the morning and turn out the light at night.
Breathe. Ingest that which is nourishing (or not). Keep going.
And so, absorb – in other words, eat – blandness and live in a monochromatic world.
There’s an alternative, though: surrender. Yield to the banquet of life.
I have chosen that.
I dream and delight and salivate when I think of long late summer lunches and intimate jewel red pomegranate pips and black figs and tiny flowers on desserts melting on delighted lips. Beloved friends in abundance.
Someone at the table tells me about stealing, peeling with tender fingers sweet and sun baked prickly pears beside a dusty road in the Karoo. A bottle of pale gold wine in the cooler, opened under a lone tree.
Now, at winter’s bite, I watch an early sunset and think, I might light a fire tomorrow: sweet, spicy, gingery heat in an unctuous, rich meaty dish of deep delight.
And not too long from now – to soon, sometimes – dreams of blossoms and bees. But that’s for another season.
