Morning\'s buttered sun pours light\'s honey over layered rock cakes spilling shadows in drops coffee black. A flowered and green tilted plate where a thin trail wends its way through leafy bordering byways. Birds call like singing utensils and the aroma of nature\'s kitchen wafts through the out doors. Tongue tasting lightly salted, skin basted turning brown. I walk between moss and vine table cloth decorated stone tables and rock chairs. The fresh mountain air is on the menu.