Back in the days when I was known as "The Cake Man" among my co-workers, it was, as you might guess, my favorite food. Any kind of cake could get my attention ... and have me reaching for a fork at the same time.
Even the smell of a freshly-baked cake would catch my attention as little else could.
I still relish the smell of that now-forbidden food.
Where am I going with this? I'm wandering just a bit down memory lane. Just as I still relish the smell of a freshly-baked cake, I relish old memories.
They don't feed me like present events do, but they bring me comfort ... and I like that.
I certainly don't live in the past ... any more than I can experience a future which hasn't arrived yet. I do like to pay visits to some events of the past, though ... just like I enjoy "visits" to the possibilities of a future which lies vaguely ahead somewhere out there.
That said, the poem:
when I fold
my towel, drape it
again on the rack,
I sometimes hear
the music of eggs
in the frying pan,
its knobbed glass
in darkening tones,
I catch the scent
of that kitchen,
that magic time
so distant, but
(originally published in Moose Bound Press)
Today's word: sizzling