The orange-red of the curry powder makes a lovely, rich, autumnal yellow once the milk-water is added, and though the stirring seemed endless, I found myself momentarily entranced in the path of the meandering spoon, releasing the paste to form the smooth, golden sauce. The sauce would thicken in its own time. I couldn’t turn the heat up to high because we didn’t want it to boil. I just had to be patient and wait.
My husband had stirred me a beverage while I stood at the stove. The orange juice and schnapps nearly matched the sauce in the pan. Time seemed to be very still as I stood there, enjoying the quiet luxury and noting our abundance.
In this time of year, when nature is quiet at the surface, I feel the busy-ness below the surface in my own being and mind, as I’m sure the earth feels it beneath the soil. Things aren’t what they seem. Only if we are truly aware can we know what might be to come. Only if we are aware can we truly know what is happening right now.
The stirring of the sauce ended with the meal’s preparation complete, and the drink was consumed. The stirring beneath the earth and within me continues, as does the expectation, the wonder, and the mystery.