Calloused fingers grasp, grip.
Quick, deft, precise movements,
Hands like wings of a hummingbird,
Toss, simmer, seer, sizzle.
Garden greens and golds,
Autumn red and orange
A culinary paint by numbers.
A sip, a smile, a sigh, a thought:
Let it reduce, thicken
To a hearty, healthy heaviness.
A dash of golden spice
Hovers briefly in the air
And settles in the steamy mixture.
A lid is placed and sealed;
Pressure builds to a smokey mist.
A tumultuous whirlwind,
Other dishes craving attention,
Crying children wanting affection.
Amidst the velocity, a lull, a sense
Of understanding, the eye of a storm
Where nothing moves. It is you
Softly humming, while your arms
Flail about, like a many-armed goddess.
Decadent delicacies laid out
Waiting to be touched, savoured
While you stand, erect, arms crossed,
Playfully smiling at the guests
Who sniff hungrily at the heady aromas
While their tongues loll lazily,
Like caricatures of ravenous creatures.
You concede, “Dig in!”