When we think of ice cream we think of intense cold;
Surely this wasn't available in the fridgeless days of old!
Surely electricity had to play a part!
Without our modern know-how how did they ever start?
Well, icecream isn't modern although it seems to be;
In fact it dates from way, way back in dark antiquity!
The Chinese, three thousand years ago, mixed honey with frozen snow;
It was collected in the mountains and then brought down below.
The Romans did something similar at a very much later date;
It travelled from a distance but they were prepared to wait.
In 1292 Marco Polo mixed snow with a yak's rich milk;
The resulting ice cream was creamy and tasted as smooth as silk.
A French chef invented flavours in 1533;
He mixed ice cream with chocolate! Now that's modernity!
So now we ask however did they keep the snow so cold?
Surely the ice it was packed in would melt in days of old!
They sometimes stored the frozen ice in deep pits in the ground
Or down in lakes or inside caves, where the sun was never found.
Imagine all those old-time cooks in the palaces back then
Receiving the summons 'More ice cream!' They'd say 'Not that again!'
Think of all the journeying, the scrambling and the fuss!
I imagine I can hear them as they'd tear their hair and cuss!
I can hear the master bellowing 'I'm not prepared to wait!
Bring me my ice cream straight away on my favourite golden plate!'
Talk about stress! Those poor old cooks combining snow and fruit!
Knowing that if they ever failed they'd surely get the boot!
How much more fortunate we are, when we only have to pick
Our very favourite flavour and give it a big lick!
Imagine a cloud of dust
Imagine that you are in it.
For you are.
Everything that is you is there,
Gravity clumps the dust
Into a mass.
It becomes hot.
It becomes hotter.
It becomes unimaginably hot.
Yet you are within that heat.
Within the cloud
You were not part of the sun.
You whirled away
Into the ether
To become a planet.
Don't you remember?
You were there
With the birth of the sun
Came all we know as
And you were in it from the start.
You are eternal.
And when you die
You will still be part
Of the miracle.
Your star-stuff will remain
And when, in five billion years or so,
The sun also dies
The stuff of you
Alter beyond recognition.
But it will be there,
Ready for the next stage.
I had a brand new experience yesterday and what a lovely one it was! I was invited to read poetry at a meeting of the Newcastle Garden Club and the venue was an uexpected delight. Among all the average-sized suburban plots was this enormous park-like garden tucked away at the end of a cul de sac. And the owners name was Delilah! I scoured through my blog for 'garden' poetry and I came-up with quite a bit, although I'm not a keen gardener.
Here we see the members of the club arriving for coffee. I trotted-off on my own with my camera while they were settling-in. The meeting itself was quite interesting, as many of the members had brought examples from their gardens to show. There was a lot of oohing and aahing.
Here I am reading some verses. I had to borrow a big hat because the back of my neck was being burnt by the sun.
The cottage garden outside the kitchen. There was a large vegetable patch too.
One of the many paths made for drifting.
A quiet corner for a glass of wine at dusk.
The well-kept lawn. (The water-bill must be high.)
One of the many statues placed here and there.
And the gardener herself caught in mid-sprint.
I came away with a bag embroidered with Australian flowers, and three impatiens for my poor little yard!