A cool bed of diced tomatoes, a hint of olive oil, a touch of salt and a few cranks from the pepper mill.
Asleep on the bed is a Cajun rubbed cod, grilled to perfection.
I wanted to get a picture of my Iron Chef creation, but when I snapped the picture, it was only me licking the plate clean.
What did you have for dinner tonight?
I stained the deck, Redwood. It now looks like a murder scene that we tried to cover up with a homicide. Our only hope is that the sun will bleach it out some, or we just accept it and put down a couple chalk outlines and little white Dixie cups with numbers drawn on them.
This is the part of the post where I'm supposed to say something profound that makes you go, Hmmm, like, Why do people who have nothing to do with something and it doesn't effect or affect them in the least get their panties in a bind over shit that they can't do anything about? Or, I gave up talking for Lent, but no one noticed. Or, how much education and training do I need to become a state certified sexual predator castrator? But it's not going to happen today. It is a cold, sad September evening where the sky only closes its eyes to sleep and saves the pallet of sunset colors for another day.
Sunsets are a lot of work, tho, aren't they? And for what? A myriad of atmospheric conditions that fills the sky with shades of sherbet and fire that bleed into night. A last hurrah of the day, a final wrap party, the celebration of the long chariot ride across the sky.
Only to do it again tomorrow, only this time, different.
But tonight, the universe takes a break.
And so do I.
So, no profoundity tonight.
Ya'll are on your own.