Basa fillets, frozen, are too long for the steamer basket. The layer above, bearing broccoli, stacks jaunty. Hisses from the potato pan: hot starchy water boils out, the hob's a mess. Slices of root vegetable, jittering in the current. Steam shimmies up, melts the iced fish, levels settle.
The washing did not dry on the cold line, but it was drier, I notice this, unpegging. Half notice: busy thinking where a new washing line might go, where a paved path could lead.

After work, eat a bowl of cold mashed potato and a slice of cheese. Ah, I can clean the hob tomorrow. It's late: I'm too content to move.


Suze said…
Abide, indeed.

I used to allow duty to usurp contentment but I'm learning a new way.

Have a beautiful weekend, my dear Diamond Lils.
Geo. said…
"...a new washing line might go, where a paved path could lead."

Lily, I feel like I've just listened to a song. It's everyday life, I know, but you've got something. A beautiful voice. My compliments.
Lisa Southard said…
One has a duty to revel in life, sometimes, Suze :-)
Geo: I wrote this and thought- um, frozen fish, really? But it is the song of the everyday stuff, that's how I think of it, that's why I overruled the doubt. Compliment gratefully received :-)

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