stream of consciousness

A graybeard

with a sheaf

of blue iris

gladdens my morning,

and then, delicious,

a slightly charred panini

with caramelized shallots,

lots of arugula pesto,

and farmer’s cheese

chores of the best sort:

arranging spring flowers,

washing a few dishes,

making two pots of tea,

charging my camera batteries,

picking up the latest Montalbano from the library.

looking for two old poems I’ve been reminded of,

mailing letters and Matisse postcards

stopping by the produce market

for green beans (which I don’t buy),

a rough-skinned melon soft to touch (but with almost no flavor, after all),

some tarragon, apples,

a round squat loaf of olive bread

to go with the small piece of cheese I picked up

at a whim:  Urgelia Cadi, creamy and pungent,

from the Spanish Pyrenees

slicing potatoes for poulet bonne femme

with tarragon and pearl onions,

baby carrots, lemon zest, and a bay leaf

and tomorrow I’ll make a quinoa salad

with chicken and feta, radicchio,

red onion, and pine nuts;

and the next day

pasta (whole wheat shells)

with Italian sausage and arugula—

and there’s my week arranged.

image:  Christie B. Cochrell, spring flowers