Everyone's writing of Autumn.
Heat diving into memory's pond,
wetting life to form decay,
leaves mulching contemplation
of frigid expectations that may come.
And who hasn't seen the wind,
blow them away?
But before my eyes, there is no such scene
of foliage transformation to adore,
only peppers everywhere,
I need more
wafts of chile roasting, then scorching
my burning tongue. Hot, succulent flesh descending
through pipelines that sizzle, welcoming
epicurean delight, gastronomic festival
of sweaty bliss,
scalding explosion of tasty fun.
My autumn's beauty is of different scope,
a taste piquant in my freezer,
lasting all year long.
|Green Chile's harvest|
|Dried Red Chile - Hatch (Chile Capital of the World), N.M.|
(Submitted to Carry on Tuesday for the prompt "Who has seen the wind", which I modified slightly.
Though I didn't submit (didn't make deadline), I am responding to Claudia's prompt on food, at Dverse Poets.)
Every year, my husband and I buy at least 70 lbs. of chile and freeze it for consumption throughout the year. If you lived in New Mexico for even a short while, it's very possible you'd become addicted to these peppers. It's a taste that once acquired, becomes mandatory for your taste buds.