Knowing what's on the table - an interjection
Yesterday in the supermarket.
When there's nothing but light in my fridge, I head to my local supermarket. That's what happened yesterday, on this cool autumn day.
Blinded by the bright neon lights and lulled by the lulling music meant to entice me to buy, I deftly maneuver my shopping cart through the aisles. A man at the local produce aisle catches my eye. With hands as big as excavator shovels, he grabs several punnets of strawberries and places them in his basket. They're on sale, after all.
Where they come from? It's just as irrelevant as the question of where exactly this Israel is.
I walk past the strawberry punnets, inhaling the faint scent of strawberries with a hint of mold inhibitor, and miss the small, sweet fruits of the " Tubby Red " I grew on my balcony last summer. No pesticides. No long transport routes.
What price do I pay for this?
It will be a few more months before I can enjoy my strawberries on my balcony again. But until then, I'll be snacking on the jam I made from the sweet fruits and looking forward to the new urban gardening season.
Image source: istockphoto.com / Michael Krinke
