qarrtsiluni

From Under a Bell (no longer online), May 22, 2004

Low sun through window panes. Sharply reflected by my paleness, back to the badly cleaned glass to stay and form miniature rainbows. The wooden spoon in my right hand swirls in courgette chunks and a ready-made Thai stir fry mix from the grocery store. Always his eyes and his fingers on the pink, transforming the shape.

I can smell the oil and the spices, which I added merely because I love the sound of their names – basil, thyme, rosemary. A tablespoon of sweet and sour sauce. While it is slightly too late for the shrimp, I decide to give their rosy flesh a chance to gain a little more than a hint of the flavour I created, before I throw in the noodles in an attempt to make the meal hearty enough for my hungry man.

His voice and his sparkling warm eyes when I place the steaming bowl on the table and sit down with my arms crossed over my shoulders: “Who are you hiding for?”

One noodle lands on the skin, in a perfect half-circle.

by Anne-Mieke

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