Vivid blue sky and great white clouds — not too warm for an afternoon walk, but far too bright without the shade of a wide-brimmed straw hat; temporarily blinded, though, by a stretch of new sidewalk.
An impromptu soup of garlic, onion, purple kale, potato (one of which was baked yesterday, the other raw) and white kidney beans (cannellini, it says on the can); olive oil; salt; pepper; a generous amount of thyme.
While chopping and cutting, the sudden awareness of that funny little hole, the gap in the fabric where my eldest brother used to be. No need of repair. The garment is still sound.
July 9, 2022. Afternoon.
.
[ 1485 ]
Categories: A Few More Scratches
Tags: Clouds, Death, Kirk, Memory, Sky, Soup, Straw Hats, Sun, Walking
William Michaelian 
Your beautiful post puts me in mind of this poem:
“Da Capo
By Jane Hirshfield
Take the used-up heart like a pebble
and throw it far out.
Soon there is nothing left.
Soon the last ripple exhausts itself
in the weeds.
Returning home, slice carrots, onions, celery.
Glaze them in oil before adding
the lentils, water, and herbs.
Then the roasted chestnuts, a little pepper, the salt.
Finish with goat cheese and parsley. Eat.
You may do this, I tell you, it is permitted.
Begin again the story of your life.”
Many thanks for your writings. They are always poetry, as are you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I remember it well. But I’ll remember your kindness and friendship much longer.
LikeLiked by 1 person
A beautiful reminder that memories fill the holes left in life’s fabric when those we love and moments we make are gone. Beautiful writing, William. Hope the summer is treating you well.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Many thanks. Summer here has been a gentle one thus far. Everything is still lush and green. I hope all is well with you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
You’re welcome and great to hear. I am well and enjoying the season.
LikeLiked by 1 person