Each morning when i walk into work i hear a familiar clunk, clunk of apples being tossed into buckets. Harvest lasts about four weeks and each day a new batch of fruit pickers come in determined to exceed their quota and take home a few extra bucks. The orchard is strewn with empty buckets. Men and women who, chilled to the bone, just said “fuck it” and tossed their buckets and left.
I think of this as i rinse my mouth out after drinking a blueberry smoothie and my spit is speckled with black seeds on the white floor of the shower.
All these little moments that go unnoticed or forgotten. Day in and day out. The little beautiful moments disappear.
On my run today i passed through marshes and mountain passes. Snow littered the ground. Music filled my head and helped me to ignore my panting breath and softly stomping feet. I ran for an hour and didn’t see another living thing. I imagined running like this forever. Something ethereal, this trail running.
I sit at this little antique desk and stare out the window. My lake view is back. Leaves have let go of their grasp on the trees and the spindly branches frame the lake behind them. There are power lines running left to right and for several weeks every autumn their is a highway of squirrels going back and forth from nests to chestnut and acorn trees. Sometimes they drop nuts on cars driving below. The drivers always look up in startled rage and shake their fists at the critters above.