I see business as usual. Yes, it’s a birthday but the normal chores of cooking and cleaning are still there. What says kitchen like onion skins. They are as elusive as the years of our life. I hope a fragrant pot of spagehetti was the result.
Interesting, Michelle. You know, this image just popped into my head as an emblem of something fragile that can be blown away with even the slightest little draft, or crushed with frighteningly little difficulty. Don't know why I thought of onion skins, because I wasn't actually doing anything with onions at the time. But now you've made me hungry!
Although the wonderfully provocative phrase <grin> is fictive, as the chief onion peeler and bottle washer, I can see our own onion skins skittering away. Just as a snake sheds its skin, so humans shrug out of or into new skins, leaving whatever is left to 'skitter away'.
Nice! I like your interpretation, Alan. It turns the skittering onion skins in my poem into a positive metaphor that suggests leaving the old and exhausted behind, and heading into the new and potentially fruitful. Your interpretation almost makes me like birthdays. Almost. Thank you!
Sounds lovely! We do birthday lobsters (forgive me, if you're vegetarian/vegan). When my birthday rolled around last January, one of the lobsters found its way out of the bag in the back seat of the car. Guess it had an idea what was coming. And yes, I have haikued about it.
No, I did not eat my lobster raw in the back seat. I put it/him/her back in the bag and pretended everything was normal. This lobster had become noticeably agitated and had actually tried to climb out of the tank as we were selecting it. It had plenty of fight but, sadly, not quite enough. Cheers!
What a lovely Valentine's Day ku, Timothy! I love the image of twin garlic cloves all warm and snuggled up next to each other. And when you consider how cold these cloves get as they winter over in the earth, their warmth becomes a thing that they share.