I Eat
It’s no surprise.
I eat.
And when I eat,
I give thanks to what I eat.
Thanks so immense that it surpasses superfluous surface-level meaning
When I pick fruit, I kiss the leaves of the tree,
I say thank you.
I kiss the dead Branchwood, scorched by the summer heat, the limbs that didn’t make it through the year,
And say thank you.
I go to the leaves,
both the old and the new —
The ones that can’t hold on any longer, with cancerous, black spots of the reaper, taking them to slumber 🍂
Side-by-side with the tender Fibrous flesh Of the little baby leaves — 🍃
And say thank you.
So when a Mutsu as pristine and beautifully in tact as this rolls down the hill at my feet, long after its season has passed, far beyond a time I believed them gone,
I pick it up
Shed a tear of joy
Take the biggest bite,
Observe the gratification my body feels
Then I place it upon my Frontal lobe, The neural chasuble of astral projection.
To find its mother, who I know is still there, But I am too far away, And did not thank when I was near, with touch of delicate hand & durable bark.
I remember the taste
The feeling of full
The remembrance of need
Her willingness to provide
& I say thank you.
Thanks for listening! I appreciate all comprehensions of each piece. If you attained a bit of light in the upstairs attic, please, share your thoughts in the comments as it pertains to you. Like, follow, subscribe, and all that stuff that makes the good merry-go-round machine work.
Any penny to the coffee cup below helps me further unclog mental befuddlement for us all, & work on my expansive sci-fi narrative more.
…
Until next time.



Such grace
Nice. I have nothing else to add other than you seem like a naturalist who gets it.