Heaven might just lie in a vat of simmering tomato sauce. Late yesterday afternoon, beneath shuddering clouds and the hazy clap of thunder, I watched the sky light up my heavy bottomed pot.
Thick, red fruit bubbled up in the flash, and the smell of rich red wine and frying fat rose up from the stove. Onion and salt, rosemary and thyme wafted into the rafters, and the storm began to quell.
By the time the rain had stopped, the sauce reached a slow, lilting simmer. The earth began to let go outside, sucking up the rain puddles and dew drops and breathing against the stark silence of the passing storm.
As the sounds of the yard began, slowly at first and then chirping and humming and swaying in earnest, again the sauce roared up. The pot burped and spat as red juice reduced to a thick, rich sauce.
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