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.

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Mutsu: Golden Delicious x Newtown Pippon cross

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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.

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