I have written of Steve’s kitchen quite often and in various ways, from the dishes he prepares to the memories evoked by his simple act of making coffee. This autumn, I have found that even with that cup of coffee in hand, I like to sit in the quiet of his warming kitchen. Like ritual, I watch the remaining leaves on the towering oak tree flutter in a morning breeze, and then … it happens. I look across the table at Steve and I say, “The sun is coming around the corner on its sled.” He says, “Mmmmhmm.”
It does not flood the room, this autumn light. It moves slowly like honey or light maple syrup across a plate. My favorite part? How light pours upon the pot of sage.
It soaks into dusty leaves, alive and dead, and runs along unruly stems.
Truth be told, there are other herbs in the room, on the same little table, buckets of basil, rosemary stalks and more. But my favorite sight in the morning light, this autumn so far anyway, remains the sage …
…even when its leaves are not green.
