The Old Kitchen

There’s a ruckus in the Old Kitchen. There’s a kale smoothie for the health-conscious adolescent, an orange juice for the youngster that only consumes brightly-coloured things, and there’s an omelette sizzling in the fry-pan for dad.

The Old Kitchen is always bustling at breakfast time. It takes a celestial skill-set to manage the wants and needs of everyone in the family. That’s what mum’s good at. She’s the Creator in the Old Kitchen.

The youngster’s sweet-tooth gets the better of him. He swoops in for his brightly-coloured beverage only to get under his mum’s feet, startle the cat and spill the kale smoothie, the salt that was intended for the omelette, and his own juice all over the floor.

Mum stands with her hands on her hips. Nothing needs saying. The youngster apologetically scoops it up and mum polishes off. The kaley, briny, colourful concoction goes straight into the trash.

That night an average-joe points his camera to the sky. There’s an aurora tonight. There must have been a spill in the Old Kitchen up in the sky.

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