I dream of... butternut squash?

Sometimes dreams are like planting daisy seeds and instead growing butternut squash.
Not what you expected.
Takes some getting used to.
but the jarring aside...
butternut is better for your body and your soul.
(just a mission to peel.)
Daisies fuel insecurities
as the petals fall
one
by
one
to the grass that's greener on the other side.
sowing seeds of discontentment instead of songs of joy.

meanwhile,
you're in the kitchen (with Dinah?)
peeling butternut
all your emotions wrapped up in one action
the battle begins: steel against skin
 thwip, thwip, thwip
the squash (not so aptly named) refuses to be vanquished.
more effort. stronger will.
refusing to be appealing the squash slips off your hand and into the trash.
defeated, you pluck it from the pile of more obliging vegetable peelings,
rinse it off,
and begin again.
the slick surface of the squash meets the force of the blade and immediately
slips again.
rinse.
thwip, thwip, thw- slip. rinse. again.
with each rescue form the rubbish the tears begin to rise.
frustration.
near cursing.
WHO DREAMS LIKE THIS?!
tears.
keep going.
the question remains.
Slip. Plunk. ARGH! Trickle. Sniff. Thwip, thwip, thwip...
keep going.
Finally.
it. is. finished!!
glance back at the counter behind.
FIVE MORE.
heart sinks to toes.
reach for the next  (MOT)
Thwip, thwip, thw-slip. plunk.
FIST OF RAGE.
rinse. begin again.
somehow...
the end is reached.
three steps forward, four steps back.
ten steps forward, three steps back.
battle is won, but war is not over.
CHOPPING.
strength. steel. balance.
thwack, thwack, thwack.
the squash rolls.
steady.
when arms ache from chopping squash... the war is over.
into the pot.
plunk. plunk. plunk.
wearily, retire to a stool and wait.
stir occasionally.
hope rises.
wait.
sprinkle a dash of salt.
stir.
TASTE.
result?
HALLELUJAH CHORUS!
best butternut soup you've ever tasted.
Served?
At the feast where the King dines with His children
and every beggar, orphan, and widow is invited with open arms.
songs of joy resound.
warmth of love and soup fills soul and body.
the question returns.
WHO DREAMS LIKE THIS?!
"ahh, it is simple," my soul replies
"my Father."

As the Good Book says, "Those who sow in tears will reap with shouts of joy." - Psalm 126:5

{Thanks to: Savana, who taught me to cook, inspired me to dream, and made me peel butternut squash. Jessica, whose love for Jesus, butternut and ZA, has blessed me more than words. Laura from Cape Town, who made me the most kiff butternut soup on the planet. YUM.}

150 (Ode to a Conclusion)

Dear Conclusion,
I hate writing you.
I Just want to go to sleep.
But you are standing in the way.
What can I say that hasn’t already been said?
In the introduction, of course.
Repetition, repetition, repletion
Man, I am just kidding
Or am I?
I’ll leave that for you to decide
Take it back like counter-clockwise
One hundred and fifty words
Are a lot to demand.
I hate the rehash
I don’t have anything new to say
I’d rather write another paragraph instead
Wouldn’t that be better?
I think so.
Only at 94 or so.
Man, we’ve got a ways to go
Kind of like 6 year olds learning to ask questions
The kids who don’t mind if Wilbur dies: bacon is delicious
But are afraid to read the end because they know
Charlotte’s a goner
And that’s too sad to stand.
Like this conclusion.
Concluded.
Respectfully yours,
KatiRose