The weather finally transformed from autumn directly into summer last weekend. It's been a strange couple of years with La Nina toying with our sanity.
But for the last few days, the beautiful, balmy, 80-degree buttery air is back. I'm clinging to it like a dying person. It feels so good.
When winter returns, and it isn't all that far off, unfortunately, I'll return to the soft summer nights in my mind and sigh, in peace, having appreciated them so much.
I enter the laughter-softened
space of our cluttered kitchen,
he shakes the cold from my hair,
wraps me up in that big lover’s
greeting, all musk-scented skin
and flashing eyes. Proudly, he shows
off the offering of the roadside
harvest, freshly killed.
Sharp knife through pale shaggy manes
Slicing thick flesh of stems and caps,
gills splayed in perfect symmetry
and we are bent together over the stove inhaling
forest and field, butter foaming at
the mouth of the sauté pan. Sizzling from
deathly white to frolicking golden brown.
Sinking from Bone dry to drenched in hot juice.
Finger food steaming on the plate, we reach
across the table in unison, and eat.