Today I am gripped by a pointless melancholy, prompted by a visit to a farm stand.
There were tons of tomatoes of several varieties, and I bought a hefty bag of them. But I know, and they know, that the tomatoes' days are numbered.
This time of year, I eat at least a tomato, if not a few, a day.
Tomatoes on toasted wheat bread. Tomato slices eaten straight. Tomatoes eaten right side up, upside-down, with clothes on, naked, in the shower, in bed, chased with beer, snorted, worked into my performance pieces, etc. You get the idea. Tomatoes, tomatoes, tomatoes. I eat them. I love them.
But now it's getting past tomato time and getting into cider time.
And that reminds me that I'm really thirsty right now, and that cider seems to quench a thirst really well, but I didn't buy any today because I didn't know if I had sufficient cash in the wallet for cider and tomatoes.
The most melancholy thing of all is that, as it turns out, I did. If only I had known!
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Tomatoes with fresh basil and fresh mozzerella. Tomatoes directly from the garden and still warm from the sun. I made a spicy salsa with heirloom tomatoes I got at the farmers market. Heavenly. Can't get enough tomatoes either.
When I was little I used to ask my mom if I could go to the "cider millen". Kind of like sneeping bag.
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