A Path Through . . .

(Painting by Willem Bastiaan Tholen - found here ) Sleepers rise to a kettle gently whistling, wandering in to watch butter beginning to bubble with anticipation. As spattering pops rouse the house come offerings—a cartonful of eggs, mushrooms meant for last night’s dinner— else off to beg next door for bacon and more company. Soon the air is awaft with incense, alive with mirth of piping, bursting sausage, perilous with trapeze-leaping pancake tossage, warm with hearthlike-crackling mushrooms, lush with violinlike freshness squeezed in orange juice. Neighbors amble in to break their night-long lent, bring coffee, berries, or only empty bellies trembling with laughter, and all is passing toast and topping coffee off, and pledging our dear Lord, who made us bodies, that he might resurrect us, so, when we’ve rubbed our eyes from graveyard sleep, he can call us up to come and have His breakfast. ~Brendon Sylvester