Phyllo pastry stuffed with spinach and cheese dances on my tastebuds. Wine washes it down. Hummingbird song and wing flutter fills my ears. Citrus flower fragrance wafts through the sixty-seven degree spring air and into my nostrils. I am content. Yet, somehow, my brain doesn’t want to shut off like I wish it would. I begin to ask myself questions that I don’t know the answers to:
Why do so many cultures seem hell bent on containing food inside wrappers, e.g., the spanakopita that I am currently enjoying, or egg rolls, gyros, raviolis, apple turnovers, burritos? The list goes on!
Why does a good wine have to taste so darn good?
Why do hummingbirds have to move through life so quickly? I want to tell them they are safe in my garden…at least when I am here on guard against the wily neighborhood kitties.
Why don’t the neighbors put little bells on the kitties so sweet birds have a chance to drink delicate nectar and dine on plump, ripe seeds just one more day?
Why don’t manufacturers make special kitty bells that sound like Tibetan bells? This way I can eat in peace — almost in a meditative state. Birds can take their time enjoying a meal, tending to their nests or flitting from tree to tree while cats go on simply being cats.