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This is a little something I wrote for the most important person in my life.
On a gentle breeze, the warm summer air carries a sweet, heavy aroma; the scent of sugary juices wafts between the branches. I step barefoot among the short, gnarled trees with light green leaves, careful not to tread on the rotten fruit littering the grass. A fly buzzes by my ear every so often, whispering to me a low vibrato. I search carefully and slowly for the perfect one, the roundest, plumpest, most beautifully colored piece of art nature could provide me. Moving leaves kindly and tenderly aside to examine each fruit, I caress each of them affectionately, breathing in their bouquet as I pass from one to another. Then, I find it, the ideal specimen. There, between two young trees at the back of the grove, an elderly plant, with heavy branches and large dark leaves, carries one lonesome peach. With bated breath, I approach the tree as though it could spring into animated life and run away, my arm outstretched directly towards the single ripe fruit. I know as my fingers brush the bottom of the peach that it will fall willingly into my hand, and it does. Its skin is softer than I imagined any peach’s could be, its colors more vibrant than any picture I could have painted of the fruit, and for that moment, looking into the very soul of this orb, everything in life is flawless. A small gasp escapes me and a single tear rolls down my cheek, and as I nuzzle the peach, nurture its simplicity and praise its sublimity, I bring it to my lips and plant upon it an innocent kiss. I know I am whole.
 Paper Street Soap Company · Sun Feb 13, 2011 @ 04:50am · 0 Comments |
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