October sits between dying days of summer and winter’s icy breath. The maple tree in the front yard was busy last night, carpeting the lawn in retro shades of green, gold, orange and red. It reminds me of my childhood home in the 70’s where life was good. I walk across the leaves to hear the crunch and fill the bird feeder. The sun slips between tree shadows, dazzling where it can. I scan the herb garden for soup ingredients. The painted rock still sits a few feet away. “Every Child Matters”. I think about the “mush” that was served in residential schools and rationed rotten vegetables passed off as meals. I pick the last of my basil.
On the stove, scents of rosemary, thyme and oregano mingle and begin to fill the kitchen. I add the basil, give it a stir, poking gently at fresh carrots, zucchini and roma tomatoes. Contemplating whimsical additions, I open the fridge to find wilting spinach. It will do.
stolen in September
hearts descend in shades of dreams
truth will always rise
It’s Haibun Monday at dVerse Poets Pub.
The theme is soup and I am your host.