Bland to Bold

occasionally i give my cats canned food over bagged food.
and when i do this, i sit and watch them eat.
i imagine that for them, it's an unbelievable experience.

it must be like eating old, dry cereal everyday
and then suddenly being presented with a moist, roast turkey dinner
with grrraaaavvvvyyyyy.


those cats wolf down that chopped horse meat in complete desperation.
and they don't do that with the dry food.


when i was a kid, i used to play outside in the creek,
under the hot summer sun all day.
and when i'd run home to get a drink,
i used to pretend that i had been lost in an egyptian desert
and that the first touch of liquid to my skin was the first bit of moisture
my body had received in days.


i would close my eyes, and focus on the dry, coarseness of my throat
and then let that liquid roll softly passed my lips.
and i'd feel chills go down my limbs, and i'd shiver
at how grateful my body was to receive that life-giving sip.

it was bliss.
nothing tasted better than that tall, cold, glass of pure ice water.
and i don't think anything has tasted that good, since.
a fast reminder of how powerful a false but forced perspective can be
when you're young enough to believe
your own lies.