Friday, September 13, 2013
Of all the live oaks I've ever seen, the one next door to me, that one, right there, is the most amazing. I believe it emits its own light. It is ancient as the Druids and I do worship it. Not with ceremonies or anything like that, just with my own human thoughts and heart.
It is Friday night. I am making a supper as balls-to-the-wall as that tree. Okay, maybe not. But still. It involves stone ground grits and cheddar cheese and bacon and shrimp and bread baking in the oven right now which has absolutely no redeeming whole-grain goodness in it at all. It is a glory, that bread, rising so high it threatens the top of the oven and it is being raised by sourdough.
Life is short. What we do and eat may make it shorter. There may be a huge battle between quality and quantity. Tomorrow we may eat bitter greens which I do love and that may be fine.
It is Friday night.
I sip my martini and then slice green onions and stir grits into boiling water.
Ay-yih and whoop-ay-aye.
Tomorrow I will weed and dig and prepare the garden. Tonight I saute the shrimp in bacon grease.
That tree will not care and the light will fall on us all. The world will go on.
Bless our hearts.