languisity
Open-mouthed
Today it was a ripe summer apple, the color of burnished bronze, tasting almost of autumn. It fit in my hand, that apple, like it belonged…as if the green god of apple trees had nurtured generation after generation of seeds intent on creating one apple that would precisely fit my hand and no other. I bit into it and it fit the shape of my mouth the way it fitted my hand and the juice sluiced over my welcoming tongue.
Yesterday it was a groundhog and three cabbage moths. The groundhog, plump as an alderman, waddled round-shouldered across a lawn too long unmowed and stopped briefly to scratch itself. The cabbage moths flirted spasmodically in the air behind like bits of tattered tissue. A moment later the moths were gone, the groundhog resumed its course. It happened, then it was gone.
Each day is like this. One small thing, one inconsequential event overlooked by the great world, one trifling moment that belongs only to me. Surely if the gods can conspire to provide me with one such moment every day, it must mean I have a place in this world. I am witness to the itches of groundhogs and the perfection of a single apple.
Blog photograph copyrighted to the photographer and used with permission by utata.org. All photographs used on utata.org are stored on flickr.com and are obtained via the flickr API. Text is copyrighted to the author, greg fallis and is used with permission by utata.org. Please see Show and Share Your Work
