Pausing in contemplation
before a stack of most admirable pumpkins –
gently ribbed in
yellow-streaked deep forest green –
a trolley stops beside mine,
and a woman says “pumpkin soup”.
We both nod, and stand
admiring these exemplary pumpkins.
I add “and pumpkin scones”,
she adds “and pumpkin kaya”.
We exchange pumpkin lore.
Then each choose a pumpkin,
and go on our way.
Today, making pumpkin kaya,
I wonder if she is making pumpkin scones.
anotherKate 
an enjoyable romp of a poem 🙂
thanks John 🙂
If I remember to, I make a conscious effort to talk to strangers. It usually feels good to do so afterwards. However, it also feels very uncomfortable for me beforehand. I think that is why I forget to try it most of the time. I would prefer not to feel this way. I think it is a basic lack of trust that I don’t really want to have. Sad really.
We just picked our pumpkins too. I love a chunk of caramelised baked pumpkin.
I find it easier to talk to strangers who are going to stay that way, like people looking at pumpkins in the supermarket, than someone I know I’ll have to talk to again. 😀 I think that’s the same trust issue – there’s no real risk if you never see them again.
My own pumpkin harvest was unimpressive as usual, but at least I got a few small ones this year. The kaya came out quite well, it’s sort of like lemon butter in texture, but pumpkin and coconut flavoured.