Chrysalism

These latest cracks of thunder as if to only raise attention

But the focus belongs to the pot in the kitchen

From the open balcony window, the pallet is cleared fresh with the storm air

Clashing with and elevating an aroma from a gurgling stew atop the stove

A secret ingredient

It’s the wrong time of day to be this dark

It’s the wrong time of the year to be this cool

The feeling is nonetheless natural, welcomed even

But a far faring, painterly sky is uniform and unbreakable

Cloaking above and challenging the light, saturating the surfaces outside

The stew atop the stove is just as murky, though turbid

With a broth of roots and delicate, seasoned lamb

A joyful contrast

It’s too early in the day for something this savoury, filling

It’s too much for just one sitting, along with the bread

The feeling is it will repeat a second meal later

The hard simmer of the stew remains calm and steady

The rain’s intensity is volatile and keeps changing, as though frustrated

One glance is enough to see that it will go on all day

The first buttered heel of bread is means enough to accept that

A fine day awaits