Goat's cheese and red pepper tart.

A colleague retired from work today and so we organised a meal at a local restaurant to mark her departure and wish her well. I opted for a goat's cheese and red pepper tart and was pleased that I did. It was assembled on a crisp, thin pastry base coated in caramelised onion, overlaid with long strips of red pepper and topped with a thick layer of creamy goat's cheese. A salad of mixed leaves, cherry tomatoes and black olives shared the plate.  I ate first with my eyes. Then the aroma hit. Followed by taste and texture. The conversation stopped. Silence as we savoured. A simple dish, that filled up the senses. 

The lingering smell of charred wood.

The lovely old house; the vacated property next door has been burnt out. So has the one in front. Fired by vandals. Old buildings that saw families grow.  They weathered the tests of time but were not the match of those that would destroy. Flames have taken the memories of happier times, promises, hopes and expectations.  All that's left now is the lingering smell of charred wood.  And the purpose of the destruction? Who knows? Did the arsonists come to watch the flames? Did they enjoy? A beautiful old house. Ready for the bulldozer. Stinks of uselessness.