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A Page From My Life

A contemplation

By Melissa EavesPublished 2 years ago 4 min read
A Page From My Life
Photo by Dana Luig on Unsplash

Beneath the shade of the pear tree, I sat preoccupied. The wind picked up and the leaves whisphered and sang that silent song that wind and leaves often sing.

I sat in wander of origins and penguins and all sorts of subtle little misconstrued thought processes in that moment of space between time that results is something resembling a doze, but yet conscious.

The stream gurgled and sang over the stones, in melodic water harmony with the rest of this idyllic place of shade and quiet. The sun sang golden hues into my line of sight, and the shade broke the blue and white light into contrasted levels of shade and softness.

I sat with my back against the trunk and contemplated the contrast.

I thought of the lives I'd known and as my bone weary skin began to absorb some of the magnetism of romance and earthen smells began to permeate, I fell asleep and dreamed in crimson, and of lovely bones. The skin monsters that danced and leared in the shadowy recesses of my mind lost physical status and three dimensional spheres fell away.

The world had lost the cadence and rhythm of life, and believed only in the last days, the end of time. I sang for love, and no one came. I sang for joy, and no one laughed. I sang for holiness and spat bitter tears of someone elses regrets onto the earth.

Return unto me and claim. The earth spoke into my mind, These were also things that I dreamed. I realized that the million bone weary thoughts that used to occupy my mind were no longer so weary, but actually quite busy.

The fleet of jets woke me, and for once I was happy for the intrusion. I once dreamed in horror of the helicopters and war that flew overhead but now I welcomed the sight and sound as the neccessary stays of peace that they are.

There was a home waiting for me, and things to do, that would not do themselves. I was living in an apartment on the downside of town, and didn't even know how I was going to pay the rent.

I would hope for change. I would speak for change. I would fight for change. But then, what if, when change came it passed me by. Or worse, what if it threw me out, and turned me aside? What if it then claimed I had no place, or part in this new revolutionized life, while it stared at me in complete physcosis with my eyes?

I watched these things with a disconcerting mixture of trust and knowing while the bitch next door proffessed an act of horror and disdain, I calmly cleared the floor, and kept my stance and place.

I kept my eye on the pear I had carried back with me, and ran water for the dishes. I watched with a slow eye, a little distanced from reality as the sink filled, and the suds began releasing their hula berry scent into the air. I had once again bought my favorite dish detergent; Gain Hula Berry.

I put some salmon in the oven, and prepared a salad;lettuce, with chopped tomatoe, a little cucumber, some broccoli finely chopped, cauliflower finely chopped, a pickle/chopped,an avocado, some purple onion/largely slivered, some fresh spinach leaves, a little dill,some pita chips and a drizzle of pickle juice, a little rasberry vinegarette, would top it off. I would add a few olives on the side. The ice clinked in the glass, I had set aside for ice water. The salmon never took long to cook, and it was always good; perfect pink flakes of fish under the gray tint left from the skin.

I sat in the cool as, men around the world watched in futility as their fates were determined. I found the news brought a small sense of normalcy when there was none, so I watched. I turned the tv off, pulled the salmon from the oven, and inhaled its fragrance.

After dinner, plates washed and tucked away, I turned to the beautiful perfectly ripened pear on the windowsill. There is nothing in life like a freshly ripened pear straight from the tree. It has this perfect unique texture and flesh that I can't begin to describe. It is soft and hard, and perfectly layered, in contrast of texture, much like it's taste. Sweet, with a mild tang, it is not a peach. It is its own thing. The juices fill my mouth, and the variance within the fruit sates my want for satisfaction, as nothing but the best can. Sublime, that is the glory of life. Simplicity is understood in the complexity of this moment.

By Moritz Kindler on Unsplash


About the Creator

Melissa Eaves

I am an freelance writer. I love the written word and the poetry of my soul is expressed by mastery of it.

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