People are people, no matter their age. Some will be kind, curious, rude, condescending, bitter, or funny, and so on. I’m an “old people chef,” and this is my journal.
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Recycling
About midmorning,
amid smells of coffee and egg bake
and fried ham and steaming orange muffins,
I gather up the recycling
and head for the door,
a momentary escape:
In summer
I swim through suffocating humidity,
carboard in one hand,
imaginary snorkel in the other,
cottonwood leaves in the grove glimmering.
In fall
the crisp breeze carries
the tang of burning leaves
and thoughts of hay bales and hot cider.
Now, today,
the first snow swirls around me
as I walk
and watch
the scenery coated in white.
Pine and cinnamon and red ribbon
eclipse thoughts of dreary frozen smudged January ahead.
For now it is November and holidays are near.
Winter is here.
(copyright EA Schueller)
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