On Oceans of Blue

its the cooking that counts
not the recipe or the meal
or the drink or the table
its the journey that gets me there
its the winding road
and the dust at my foot
its the cooking that counts
its the mixing and the cracking
its the baking and the whisking
its the smell of the garlic being crushed
and the feel of the knife in my hand
its the anticipation in his eyes
when his nose notices
its the cooking that counts
not the place mats or the company
not the ingredients or the utensils
its the journey that gets me there
its the winding road
and the dust at my foot