We tell our truest stories when soup’s on. When the bay leaves do their thing (whatever it is), we reach into our deepest pockets and empty them all the way out.
We’ve had enough time to stew, and so has the soup.
It’s the warmth of it all, probably. And the waiting, because the longer it sits, the better it gets.
The longer we sit, the better we get.
Even better tomorrow, I bet.
So as the pot empties, our souls do. As our thoughts empty, our bowls do. And soon the words aren’t important on their own anymore; it’s all of them together, spicing the mix.
Carrots, celery, onions, and everything else left from the fridge.
If you like this ‘short’ expression, read yesterday’s here!
Post Feature Image by: Jessica Barratt
Jessica Barratt 