It's an odd day. Really hot. More than one hundred hot. But quiet in the house, with cool air fanned about. A luxury, for sure.
I've finished the poppet chess pieces.
The last ones I made were the pawns. Significant, at least to me, the making of these poppet pawns.
They complete a circle. Poppet, who started as a pawn and became something else entirely, now pretends to be one. I don't know that the world needs poppets to play chess any more than it did then.
It's not even a beep on anyone else's radar, but I recognize this disjointed, uneasy feeling. I'm at a crossroad. I've been here before. We must be mindful when we tie up loose ends---especially dusty old ones. We can never be sure of what other connections have intertwined themselves over the years.
I expected to be here now, at this crossroad. But it's nothing like the place I imagined it to be. This one is silent, pristine, timeless.
So I did the only thing that made sense.
I made gumbo. Sauteed the onions and peppers, shrimp and sausage. Made the roux, put everything together to simmer and become what it will eventually be.
Making gumbo is a bit like making art---you've gotta skirt the edge of failure, right there in the middle, if you want to make it turn out well. (I apologize--but you just can't miss with a soup analogy. It's all in there.)
It was right for today, to cook something. I don't know why. I don't know why today's next step seems any more significant than that of any other particular day. I may figure it out later, why I went one way or another, or I may not. It doesn't really matter, does it? I'm going to let this one sort itself out. And then, it'll simply be what happened.