Recliner Soup

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This in-between-seasons thing perplexes me. Jeans, or shorts? Hot or iced? Study, or lounge? It took a Day of Initiation and Recline to settle the flustration for me. Tie-dye leaves of golden brown and green rattled about. Gray-blue clouds drummed along. A wind with a little less pollen and a little more coolness whistled through my hair. It was enough: I gathered my semi-wilted produce, my stock and scarf (I think it was still around 60 degrees) and headed to my dad’s to make soup.

Decisive at last! The act of my dad happily eating said soup, in his recliner (leather almost as withered as my bell peppers), made this Recliner Soup.

And! It did not taste like leather.

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