One of my favorite fresh vegetables are peas. Walking out into the garden, lifting up the light green bushes, in and amongst the leaves are the little pods. Flat but full of potential. Fat, the skins bulging, with a hint of grey, showing age. And then the perfect ones, rounded, but not full. I pick one and squeeze the far end to make it open with a subdued pop. The pod splits perfectly down the little groove and inside are the little, round, fresh, green peas. I love opening and shutting the pod half the peas connected to each side. They interlock, and break apart like clasped fingers. And then running my thumb down the center shuffling them free into my hand. Biting each one, separately, the juice squirting pleasantly, and then viewing the uneaten half, shells upon shells. They taste of spring.
My family also often chews the pod up. It tastes like the color green, but it is almost a pity to leave that perfect round pod (that shows almost no evidence of being opened and empty) chewed, torn an
d used up.
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