Monday, November 23, 2015

So many reasons to love today

OMGYOUGUYS. I'm currently sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire, the washing machine is humming, all the dishes from yesterday's dinner party have been cleaned and put away, and on this cold, cold night, all things conspire toward lovely lovely loveliness. And on top of that, it's POETRY MONDAY!

Today's featured poet is a good friend of mine from back in my San Francisco days, Annelies Zijderveld. She has the gift of knowing the heart and soul of things, and time with her is always fulfilling and bountiful. She also happens to be the author of one of my favourite cookbooks:

It's this one, youguys.

Two of her main loves - food and poetry - come together often in her blog, which you should definitely check out - and also in today's poem. So without further ado...

To the Next Superfood, by Annelies Zijderveld
To whom it may concern
and who has ears to learn,
what passes the test one
day will fall out of favor.
Even now, I try and savor
my name in newsprint,
the widespread popularity,
my far-reaching availability,
and the rich talking points
that come with this gig each day:
high in iron! Vitamin C, A and K!
Carotenoids! Flavonoids! Iron!
I can’t shake that while it’s all true
why you buy me is because I’m “new.”
Ask acai or broccoli, salmon or spinach.
Every superhero has its moment
to be eclipsed by what’s current.
I will still be as valuable when I’m
no longer en vogue. Just look at
my role in the Middle Ages, what
a supplement I played in WW II.
So even when you say you’re through
with my curly green edges or you’ve
tired of crisping me into cheesy chips,
I will keep growing and begin to regale
because nothing not even turmeric
can take on brassica oleracea, the mighty kale!

Isn't that terrific? The wit, the insight, the loving tribute! *happy sigh* She always makes me hungry.

Now I leave you with this photo taken earlier this afternoon at Leadenhall Market, which, like the rest of this glorious country, is in full Christmas Twinkle Delight. The magic, the way the heart skips this time of year in London. (It's probably what makes January such a miserable affair.)

Big hugs and lots of love,

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