We slice up rosy red tomatoes, sweet

Georgia onions, bits of basil, douse it all

in olive oil while Bronzini sizzles on the grill

smothered in garlic butter, oregano,

lemon pepper and finnochio.

While waiting I contemplate a scene outside my window,

pinkish white blossoms of a Magnolia tree

flutter in a soft breeze; a squadron of golden bumble bees

hover over musk scented pollen, tranquilized and

glassy eyed, reminding me to breathe again.

Another window is lined with oversized vintage

hand-blown apothecary jars, gilded rays of sunlight

illuminating their hues of lime-green and cobalt-blue.

Nudes or bottles.

They resemble nothing else.

They’re a page from times gone by.

I take a deeper breath and think of Heraclitis’

view, all things go, nothing stays

and time must have a stop.

For now, lunch is served and later we will

go and do like feisty Aunt Cele whose wrinkled

rouged cheeks were the color of old bricks.

With unfathomable energy she lived to 99

bursting with life, bright- eyed as the glow

on the amethyst ring on her forefinger,

pointing the way to new adventures each day,

an angel without wings on call to do and be

for others, always ready for: what’s next?