The exercise:
Write about something that: lingers.
I feel like we're almost on top of the potting up at last. There's still lots to do, of course, but nothing too urgent.
This freed Kat and I up to finally get the leeks transplanted out into the garden this morning. Those little buggers have been staring at us with guilt-inducing eyes for at least a week, maybe two. Hell, I wouldn't put three out of the question.
Anyway, it's done now. Cross it off the list, on to the next task.
Mine:
This evening I went back out to the garden to get some weeding done. We've been ignoring the garlic in favor of other things but I wanted to at least get started on it.
It's a pretty fun area to work in, as the green and red leaf lettuce that Kat seeded last fall has finally chosen to show up in random spots all around the garlic. On top of that are a romaine or two, and what appears to be a cabbage plant. It's a bit ridiculous, really.
Anyway, I spent an hour or so in there, yanking out the weeds and leaving the produce to continue growing. We'll probably transplant the lettuce at some point, but that will come later. When I was done I came back home, had a shower, and then did the dinner dishes.
And right now? My fingers still smell like garlic.
Leeks are a member of the allium family as well aren't they? They make for great soup as well as a toast topping (saute the leeks then mix up a Mornay sauce with egg, beer and worcestershire sauce added, top the leek toasts with the sauce and brown under a broiler).
ReplyDeleteThe vegetables sound quite wilful, especially with the garlic's determination not to leave you!
Don't Linger
Old stone, cold stone,
High walls without lights,
Cobwebbed halls that end in flights
Of broken, perilous stairs.
No turning back, Jack,
The mountain pass is snow-filled,
The mountain folk are snow-chilled,
This is the only open path.
No choice, ignore the voice
That says there's better ways,
It been here for too many years
And here is where it stays.
[Little note: light is quite an old word for window, just in case its seems a bit incongruous in the first verse.]
@Marc – how kind of the garlic to leave you with a lingering reminder.
ReplyDelete@Greg – how very Tolkien of you. And I had no idea windows used to be called lights – makes sense actually.
Lingering
A brush of the lips
A touch that lingers
Signals through the day
That come the night
With lights dimmed down
That pleasure’s on its way
@ Marc Try getting those plastic gloves used for serving food or the latex ones for hospitals and wearing them under your cloth gloves if the smell really bothers you or if you dont want others to move down wind :)
ReplyDelete@Greg I had no idea windows were called lights either I invisioned torches when reading that line.
@ Cathryn Oh my! Someone is in for a passionate evening!
I took anther route entirely..
Here's Mine:
As I hold it in my hand, this tiny fruit brings back so many memories. The bumpy nature of its peel feels much like the textured walls of my first home. Its canary yellow exterior calls to mind The Man in the Yellow Hat, one of my favorite characters in the cartoons of Curious George. The aroma of the slices now hanging from my glass of tea, reminiscent of one of mother’s all day cleaning sprees. Though sour to the palate, its taste brings a smile to my face as I remember convincing my brother that its flavor was similar to an orange. Though the events occurred so long ago, they linger on in the minds of those that shared them, stimulated by everyday items, like a simple lemon.
Greg - indeed they are. And thank you for that recipe, it sounds delicious. I'll let you know when I get a chance to try it!
ReplyDeleteGreat stuff, particularly enjoyed the final stanza.
Cathryn - that's one sizzling hot poem! Great work :)
Morrigan - eh, the smell doesn't bother me. I was just shocked it was still there, especially because I couldn't even remember actually touching the plants.
Love the nostalgia in this piece. Really nicely conveyed.
Also: convincing your brother that a lemon tastes like an orange is *such* a sister thing to do. Makes me grateful that neither of my sisters never thought to pull that one on me.