Timing..is it everything?
This late afternoon is hushed. Only the distant chirping of the house finch and the occasional fly interrupt the stillness, the absolute peace, a true moment of…. ? A pause? …An actual breath, a breath of which I am aware of drawing. All this I know because I am sitting on my porch for the first time since last, late September and I am listening. I am basking. What’s happening outside is not at all like the bubbling that is happening on my stove. The linguini, the masala sauce, that I am preparing act as if the world is coming to an end in 11 minutes, all boiling and, bubbling, and timed to explode. All. At. Once. My timing is perfect. I take pride in my timing. Pride goeth before the fall. I turn away from the stove and see that C aesar threw up on the floor. He look s so downcast. He is so sad , hang dog, droopy ears, as if he expect s me to chastise him. It’s the first time in six months since I’ve had him that he’s throw n up, that I’m aware he has thrown up