Hamburger Soup

Hamburger Soup

"You must eat," she said, "Wouldn't want you to starve to death."
I look down into the soup, a mix of colors, textures and flavors.
The white curve of the noodles,
the brown lumps of hamburger,
the fading green of the sweet peppers,
an errant tomato seed afloat in a reddish-tinged broth,
the smell savory and tantalizing.
It is a soup of ordinary life,
of comfort
and of home.
A bright orange carrot nestles
in a curl of onion, translucent,
and celery bits give a brief crunch
as I munch my way through each texture,
pondering the effort put into
chopping vegetables,
browning the burger,
seasoning to "just right."
I think of the origins of all the ingredients,
the sun and rain that fell on onion, carrot, pepper and cow alike,
the hands that picked the tomato from its vine,
and the waves of wheat bowing before the combine.

I eat two bowls full.


Dedicated to my mother-in-law.