An ode

We have made full use of asparagus this year. At least in pasta once a week. Under oozing or fully cooked eggs. Loaded with black better. Lanky, bright, crisp. Sliced, bright, crisp. With bacon and without. Mostly without.

Roasted and sliced to meet the bite size demands of quinoa.

I've picked up bunch after bunch. Tiny bouquets. Tight, tapered, aristocratic tips. Sharply elegant, they are.

And, this short pasta will do. Meeting the length. Bowing and bending alongside. Balletic.

And, me, belting out my audible praise. It comes so easily, this praise. A mouthful sigh.

Indeed.