Noticing Magic Everywhere

Kate Comings' journal

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A Kitchen Moment


In the north window, one last orchid
wilts and falls: a shriveled moth.
Phalaenopsis, it’s called.

The plant rests–
flat, sturdy leaves like cows’ tongues.
I watch for a new sprout
but orchids take their own time.
They never hurry.

After a late frost, beyond the window
roses leaf out in an explosion of green.
Rosebuds appear overnight.
Solomon’s seals are even quicker–
An inch or two in a day.

For the orchid,
one millisecond lasts an hour,
progress of sap through xylem and phloem
too slow to imagine, while in my veins
my own blood hurtles.
Time gets away from me
but the orchid rests in its own time.

I tear open a cellophane “Kumato” package–
tomatoes all in a row. I pull one out,
dark brown with hints of green, and
like the orchid plant, it came from a greenhouse
and has never known a garden.
I slice it over a bowl
to catch every bit of the sweet juice.
A bit of salt, a sprinkle of black pepper.

Now is the only tomato there is.



Some unforeseen estate issues, mainly our mother’s gargantuan unpaid taxes that we didn’t know about and suddenly owe, have come up. I don’t know how much money I have; I only know that I owe money, not how much, so I’m sitting tight, not taking any trips, not going to any writer’s doings, and not buying anything other than necessities until I find out. I’m in limbo. I feel like I’m in stasis and there’s nothing I can do about it, so I need to get comfortable with that. At least I’m writing. A lot.

Being in limbo is an opportunity to learn to surrender and just wait. Cats are very good at this, by the way. I passed this one’s window on an afternoon walk.


I’m going to focus on the things I love that are free–writing, taking my dogs for long walks and noticing things on those walks like the cat in the window and cool reflections in street puddles.



Maybe I’ll even get around to decluttering my basement.