Each morning now
I start my day
By eating oatmeal.
I'm not a purist . . .
I eat the packaged stuff,
The kind where all I add is boiling water
And the goodies are already there,
Raisins, dates, dried apples,
Dehydrated peaches
With an artificial blush.
I like to watch these plump and swell,
Releasing latent fragrance
Until a dry, rough lump
Evokes a sunny orchard.
When the north wind blows
And frost creeps down my windows,
There's nothing like a steaming oatmeal bowl
To warm my belly
And reassure my nose.
