Curious, the room fell quiet as he, in his seductive Cuban accent, explained that hearing was the only sense not experienced when drinking a fine wine. One saw the beautiful claret color or the sparkling white. One inhaled the fine bouquet in preparation for that first taste, feeling the liquid as it passed over the lips and into the mouth, down the throat and into your soul. But, he added, it was never heard.
The aroma of pad thai and the sweet velvet smell of curries fill the darkened room. Only the smallest slivers of light from the setting sun slip between the latticed gridwork of the window and as I turn to catch the remnants of the day I see the family gathered in the small patio collaged in light.
Be still life! Let me relax in this moment of you across the table from me. May my mind wander its recesses for all the memories of the lunches and dinners past, stacks of images layered one on top of each other blurring and blending into this montage of moments that make our life. Be still life. I want to linger here in this place with you.