This morning, I ease into a bowl of plain yogurt. It speaks for itself. I don’t need to do anything, yet it sits there like a blank canvass. The tiny wild strawberries that I bought at the mercato sant’Ambrogio yesterday, spoke to me as I walked by the stall, looking like a wallflower, the last basket of the day. “We are only here a short while you know, we are very rare.” Any thing will talk to you if you listen closely enough.
They were silent this morning, sitting most comfortably next to the frilly salad greens in the frigo. It was up to me now, to find the right moment. In a spark of sublime inspiration, I would place them intentionall on top of the blank yogurt canvass, some facing in, some facing out. It was a moment of sheer joy to see them, so adorably seedy and red. Like painting, I drizzled light acacia honey on top in a spiral and noticed a bit of ground cinnamon from bark that I had put in the mortar and pestle, and sprinkled a pinch on top. A mini painting, amoment of connecting to the world, feeling my way into the day.
Then I chose my favorite antique spoon and I scooped up the sweet. The ant-sized seeds crunched delicately between my teeth. The luscious berries melted against my tongue, pleasant and tangy. A spiral of islands floating on a sparkling yogurt sea.