I found myself chopping garlic for my soup today. Realizing the thoughts that are going through my mind, I think to my nephews and if they were here now.
Would they have the wherewithal to notice my rhythm and that I’m at peace? Soup is something you have to master in life.
Would they see me break the clove with my fingers and peel off the paper skin effortlessly without a sliver of the paper stabbing me under my fingernail? Would they see me slide my knife through all three cloves at once and instantly have a small hill of diced garlic hiding behind my blade?
I scoop them up with my knife and push them off into the pot on top of the onions and other vegetables. Will they see this is not a chore for me, that I could stand there for hours, days, and persuade the tubers and roots to do my bidding? Will they see my knife dance on the cutting board like a stiff yet agile ballerina?
This I hope they will recognize one day, in themselves.
A song comes to me and I let it play through my mind as I stare out the window and watch the wind.