Sunday, 20 March 2011

Time was away

There are big things cooking in the kitchen; a real banquet with birds stuffed into birds, bright rosy apples trapped by roast suckling pigs competing for attention with the stuffed peaock. Not to mention the sauces, sweetmeats and gold covered pastries.

Oh but my diners will face such challenges and indigestion that, frankly, it wouldn't be a gift of food would it? It would be a great big fat, in your face, 'look I've sweated over this so you're bloody well going to eat it and digest it, if it kills you' arrogance.

Whereas, some olives, good strong bread, oozy cheese, maybe warm, ripe tomatoes and sharp/sweet grapes. Oh! and a zingy wine, almost as green as the vines growing overhead. That's a meal that says, 'sit with me, eat with me, let us drink a little wine and pick at the grapes while we talk and laugh at our follies'. That's the one to write.

Time was away and somewhere else,
There were two glasses and two chairs
And two people with one pulse
(Somebody stopped the moving stairs):
Time was away and somewhere else.

...

God or whatever means the Good
Be praised that time can stop like this,
That what the heart has understood
Can verify the body's peace
God or whatever means the Good.


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