With eyes still full of sleep, I sauntered round the Barn. The afternoon sun starting it’s daily descent towards my friends on the other side of the world. The shadow- negative space of it’s rays, blocked by the large sycamore tree- chill the structure’s wooden backface. Here, in the company of this more-oft neglected face, a blurred myopia of yellow splayed the ground.
hmmm...lemons...on the ground. Rotting. Not many at least; less wasted…Still, what a sha–
“OH MAN– So many lemons everywhere!” exuberated a warmly- though unconscionably loud for this ‘early’ time of day- familiar voice, “You know exactly who’d love these!! Go grab a bag, quick!”
It took those words a few moments to absorb into the back of my pliant head. And a few moments thereafter, my drowsy inner-auto-pilot toed me towards the nearest tote. Pick up tote. Ohp. Dropt it. Bend over. Ahhh, gentle back tug. Pick Up Bag. step step step. Dense inhale. Weighty exhale. Mind the dog. Round the corner. What was it…we were doing?
In this quiet moment, my sluggish thoughts found themselves slyly accosted and zested by my senses: Ah! The lemons!
They flirted fragerantly with my nose. Demanded I gaze upon their refined polish; each boasting a fierce flesh. They teased at my negligent dismissiveness: ...rotting? not many? Listen closely, dear sleepy child…A choir of forty three flavonoids incanted their earth-bound epic: their vulnerable birth as buds, the pains of growing their protecting armour, the unscathed resurgence from a daring drop, and finally; the humble life to come in service of a receiving body first thing in the morning within a cleansing, hot, lemon-tea. (And only four sung sweetly of their earth-re-nourishing duty).
A faint joyous laughter overflowed the edges of the now heavy bag– how did they know…that they would go to make someone’s day?