Real Soup

On coming down

The first red dawn marks the equinox.

I have baked one final batch of cookies at this hour, in a lit kitchen with the long dry radio news as my company.

Taking breaks has long been a moral issue in my mind.

But in late morning there is a pocket of time to drag cold cafe au lait and a notebook to the porch and then to sit and invite the warming sun in through my pores to my tired heart and I do it.

The eyelids mercifully cover the eyes, whose surfaces feel textured, riddled with pollen and road dust. Just this feels delicious and soothing.

Everything goes to simple red tones and I can switch my observations to the pulsing network of arteries lace the thin skin.

The doors open. My thoughts exit. In comes the sound of an ordinary day.

Little flaps of drying leaves.

Two ravens piloting high overhead discuss their mission in their casual midday voices.

Grasshoppers click and rhythm in wavering paths across the yard, shopping for landing spots.

Chains of small bird music link the sage and junipers.

An occasional car mutters up the road, complaining, legitimately, about the bumps.

Quail feet move in with an anxious forward slant, zig zagging toward the sprinkler. They make me peek because the babies are so fat now, enormous comic nestlings following their parents everywhere.

But back to repose with a deep nourishing sigh.

The sun does its work on weariness, moving in like a hot dry bath.

I am still busy, actually, pursuing my present quest which is the attempt to perceive electrons through telepathy. This way I am not doing absolutely nothing.

Such scientific undertakings require a great deal of patience. A quiet atmosphere, to be sure. Solitude. Peaceful state of mind.

At least thirty minutes in a basking position is necessary to get a good reading. So be it.

Besides I am tired. Plus the very cat who taught me many of these techniques has taken an embarrassing fall off of the kitty table and can use some company. Her healing project is well underway near my feet.

She starts purring. All things settle into their places. This is so lovely.

Soon I begin turning into noodles, then on to pure liquid. It is very distracting. My bones go to string and then thread, then just a buzzing where the spine was.

My research is affected.

Suddenly it is apparant that the cat has won. We have been napping together. I am as blank as paper. Useless. Unproductive. Dead to every world.

With a victorious, maternal air, she licks my foot just once with her rough tongue and shifts slightly to the west for further snoozing.

She knows I will get up now and pet her and go off to some oddly abstract activity and she is a forgiving sort. The world has all kinds of kittens in it and she takes care of them all.

Strange salads are another good remedy for fatigue. Alert your senses with Orange and Onion Salad.

For six people, soak in slightly salted ice water while you proceed with the recipe:

1 red onion or mild sweet white onion, thinly sliced

Peel and slice into 4-6 rounds:

6 large, firm, juicy oranges

Transfer the oranges to a shallow serving dish and sprinkle them, really, with the following mixture:

6 T. olive oil

3 T. red wine vinegar

1 tsp. dried oregano

Now you can chill it for up to 30 minutes or serve right away with the onions, drained, arranged artfully on the top. Don't allow all the ingredients to sit together or the flavors blend and you want them to remain separate, mildly alarming.

Garnish with avocado slices and serve on lettuce leaves. Grind fresh black pepper over the top.

Add, if you like, ripe olives, Greeks if you like them, and snippets of fresh chives or green onions.

Accompany any rich entree with this enlightening and picturesque salad.

Or make it for lunch and eat it all, then take a nap and don't tell anyone how depraved and useless you have been.