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.
Abide, indeed.
ReplyDeleteI used to allow duty to usurp contentment but I'm learning a new way.
Have a beautiful weekend, my dear Diamond Lils.
"...a new washing line might go, where a paved path could lead."
ReplyDeleteLily, 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.
One has a duty to revel in life, sometimes, Suze :-)
ReplyDeleteGeo: 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 :-)