The poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.

The Miracle We're Trained to Miss

There's something delightfully absurd about this observation, yet it points to a real blind spot in how we think about the everyday. We have endless verses about love, death, nature, and noble struggle, but cheese—this ancient, transformative food that humans have been making for thousands of years—barely registers in literature. It's as if poets decided that only grand or tragic subjects deserve attention, leaving the humble and ordinary to fade into the background.

But here's where it gets interesting: the things we don't write about reveal what we've learned to overlook. Cheese represents all those quiet, essential parts of life that don't announce themselves dramatically. It's the result of patience, chemistry, and craft. It brings people together, changes based on seasons and geography, improves with time. By Chesterton's logic, we've elevated the poetic while neglecting the miraculous that's already on our table.

Maybe the real lesson isn't that someone should write a sonnet to cheddar. It's that we're trained to see profundity only in certain places. The ordinary deserves a second look—not because everything mundane is secretly profound, but because we've become so practiced at overlooking it that we might be missing something worth noticing.