by Li-Young Lee
From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
signs painted Peaches.
From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.
O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into
the round jubilance of peach.
There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.
There's a cool breeze coming in through the window. The cicadas are singing. I'm 5 minutes away from going for a morning walk to stretch out muscles from Saturday morning Zumba and sitting at the opera for 3 hours last evening. Turandot. Didn't know the plot, but everyone would recognize the gorgeous piece of music in the third act. Brings tears to your eyes music.
Neurodramaville has been busy. The motor vehicle collisions, the unhelmeted motorcyclists, the driving while texting and the damaged that are left in their wake, the falls, the tumors, the broken blood vessels. So many lives on a different trajectory than when they woke up that day.
Hubby and I are checking out flights to the Pacific coast for September. MissNewOrleans is doing travel nursing and has her first assignment in Washington state & Miss HoneyHaired will be in California for her next co-op. Trying to figure out if we can see them both in the short amount of time we have off work.
Until then, we'll read the Sunday papers, eat some bagels and listen to the cicadas. Appreciate this day and that we still have both feet on our path for right now.