Category Archives: Writing

The Flowers (A Story)

Shane knocked on the front door a bit hesitantly. It was his first real date in eight years. When Susan told him to drop by around 5 p.m. to pick her up, he realized she must trust him. It was a rarity for a woman to invite someone so new in their life to her house. Not that he kept up with dating trends.

Susan opened the door, smiling.

“Shane! I’m so glad to see you. Hug me.” Susan didn’t wait for him to respond. She stepped forward and gave him a strong hug. It was difficult for her to believe she’d only known him a week, doubly so because one of her friends from work had highly recommended that she get to know him. None of the previous attempts at being matched were successful. There was always a catch to their enthusiasm. On one memorable date, her friend Claire conveniently forgot to mention that the would-be boyfriend spent a lot of his free time at gentlemen’s clubs.

Shane laughed. “You must be glad to see me.”

Susan nodded enthusiastically. “You promised me flowers, Shane.” She winked at him.

“Indeed I did. And I will surprise you with them soon enough.” He gave Susan a cryptic wink in return.

“Full of surprises, aren’t you? That’s fine by me. Surprise away. Do you want something to drink before we go? A sandwich? A pool float? Maybe an entire apple pie?” Susan fired off the humorous options rapidly.

“Haha. No, I’m good. If you’re ready, we can go. Unless you want an entire lemon cake as a snack before we head out?” For a second, Susan couldn’t tell if he was joking.

“No, I wait until Sunday night before bed for that.”

Shane nodded and smiled.

“Let me get my small purse and we’ll go. I put on comfortable shoes, just as you requested.” Susan pointed at her shoes, then twirled in full circle as her sundress swirled around her.

As Shane backed out of Susan’s driveway, she immediately started asking him questions. He looked over at her every few seconds, both to acknowledge her and to steal a glance. At forty-seven, she was naturally pretty. Her hair was restrained by a ponytail. It was her quick smile and wit that captivated him.

After ten minutes of banter, Susan smiled at him. “You said you had a song for me to listen to, one that you wanted to share with me.”

“Yes.” He pressed the input button on his console stereo. “It’s not what you expect.”

Susan clapped her hands quickly together. “Goody! Another surprise. Who doesn’t like surprise music?”

As the music started, Susan realized it was the original version of a song she hadn’t heard in years, not since her grandmother died. One of her favorite memories was of her Nonna playing records in the kitchen as she cooked.

Both Shane and Susan were quiet as the song played. When it finished, Susan said, “How could you have known that this song is so special to me, Shane?”

Shane cleared his throat. The song had taken him back to nostalgic memories, too. “I didn’t. My grandparents used to play this record over and over and talk about how they almost weren’t together. I can’t hear the song without thinking about how it is a song about our temporary place in the world and to appreciate one another.”

Suan reached over and touched Shane’s right arm as he drove. She recounted her childhood and her grandmother Nonna in the kitchen.

Just as Shane was about to speak, Susan said, “Can we listen to it again?”

“Of course,” Shane answered and hit a button on his console.

They both listened in silence as “Il Mondo” repeated. When it ended, Shane took a glance over at Susan. Her eyes locked with his. He nodded. Susan smiled in return.

A few minutes later, Susan realized they were heading toward the lake. “Swimming? I didn’t bring a swimsuit, Shane.”

Shane laughed. “No swimming. Unless we have an accident. Or the urge overtakes you.”

Susan laughed again, something she found herself doing often. She had the idea that if she did strip down to her underwear Shane would look at her with appreciation. He radiated… gratitude about everything. Normally, she felt awkward because she tended to talk a lot. Or laugh. Not with Shane.

Shane turned onto a side road near the lake and drove about a mile into the trees that stood thickly around the road. “I know someone who lets me come visit. You’ll see.”

He took a left onto an almost invisible dirt road, not much more than a path. Within thirty seconds, they neared the water’s edge. The water lapped up against the shore.

Shane turned off the truck and stepped out. Susan didn’t realize that she was waiting for him to come around the side of the truck to open her door. When he pulled it open, she held out her right hand for him to hold as she stepped down.

She followed him around as he reached over and pulled a small cooler from a crate fastened against the cab of the truck.

“Interesting,” Susan said. She stood and smelled the strong, earthy smell of the trees and the water.

“This is about the best place on the entire lake, Susan.” He smiled at her. She felt goosebumps on the back of her arms.

“After you,” Shane said, and pointed toward the right, along the shore.

Susan walked on the small rocks and pieces of driftwood, watching the water capture the shimmering reflection of the late August sun.

“It’s fairly close,” Shane said as if he needed to reassure her.

Susan turned to look at him. “I’m good for any amount of walking, Shane. I can keep up.”

Shane watched Susan walk, her feet confident on the shore. Her ponytail bobbed as she walked. He followed her around the curved shoreline.

Susan pointed. “That’s such a beautiful island! Look at that huge dead tree.”

Shane laughed. “That’s where we’re headed.”

Within twenty yards, Susan saw a small Jon boat tethered to the shore. Paddles leaned on the inside.

“I was hoping we could swim to the island. I’m kind of disappointed.” Susan laughed, teasing.

“We could, but the alligators get cranky this time of the year, Susan.” He smiled back at her.

She shook her head. “I ride alligators, so that’s okay with me.”

Shane unanchored the boat. He then leaned over the edge of the flat-bottomed boat and placed the cooler inside. He held out his hand and helped Susan step into the boat. He walked into the water and stepped quickly over and toward the rear of the small boat. Grabbing the oars, he pushed them into the water and pushed hard, moving the boat slightly away from the shore.

Shane slowly rowed the boat back a bit and then managed to get it turned toward the island about a hundred yards away. Susan didn’t ask him why he didn’t use a trolling motor. She knew he’d tell her he didn’t want to disturb the quiet of the lake. Shane seemed to be one of those rare people who spoke plainly and rarely made her wonder about what he wasn’t saying.

As he rowed, Susan smiled and then laughed. “I didn’t mean to laugh. You’re not very good with those oars, Shane.”

He winked at her. “I know. You’d think I’d be an expert by now as much as I’ve visited. But I don’t love rowing. I love getting across. I could spend time getting great at it but I don’t see the point.”

Susan looked at Shane as he rowed. She realized that he just inadvertently revealed something about himself with his admission about rowing. She liked the realization. Most people, and men in particular, didn’t openly agree they weren’t good at something.

Susan turned sideways in the front of the boat, watching the island slowly approach. It was filled with thick trees and bushes. The dead tree sat on their side of the island. Susan saw movement and realized a large bird sat immobilize on top of the broken, dead tree.

“It’s an eagle,” she shouted.

“Yes, it’s that time of the year when you can almost touch them as they fly down across the lake.” Just as he spoke, the eagle spread its wing and dived off the tree. It flew across the surface of the lake about twenty feet away from them. Susan watched it effortlessly cross the lake and over the trees lining the shore.

Shane continued to row and turned to row parallel to its shores. Susan now faced the island, keenly watching the trees and brush. She was silent. Shane watched her face as he rowed.

“How long has it been since you’ve been out on the water like this, Susan?”

She turned her head to look at him. “Years. And not since I was very young have I been in the water so… closely. This is beautiful, Shane.”

“Wait. Just wait.” Shane laughed softly. Shane continued to row and the boat made a long arc around to the other side of the island. The opposite shore was only about thirty yards away on this side.

“You can often see deer swimming across here, Susan. This side isn’t inhabited. My friend owns the entire length. It’s empty. At least of people.”

Susan watched the far side of the shore instead of the island, which was Shane’s intention.

He rowed a little faster and when the boat reached the intended destination, he turned slowly toward the hidden far side of the island.

“Wow!” Susan almost shouted. Her voice carried loudly across the lake.

Shane smiled as Susan asked, “What kind of plant is that?!”

“Buttonbushes. Late in the season for them. But beautiful and practical.”

Shane looked at the dozens of buttonbushes about twenty feet from the island shore. Most were white blossomed. Three or four were pink. Off to the right, a picnic table and upright steel grill stood. A pile of driftwood at least four feet high was closer to the shore.

“Did you do all of this, Shane? It’s like we’re in another little world on this side of the island.”

Shane nodded. “Boats can’t approach from the inlet side because of the rock outcroppings underneath. The water under is only about two feet deep, believe it or not. But yes, I did encourage the foliage and made the space.”

“It’s magical.” Susan’s eyes devoured the hidden space that Shane had willed into existence. “I bet you bring all the special girls out here to woo them, don’t you?” She smiled from ear to ear.

“Why yes, I do,” Shane said. “So far, it’s been a grand total of you.” As he spoke, he moved the boat to the shoreline and it skidded to a stop. Susan steadied herself as it slid across the shore.

Shane stepped forward in the boat and then climbed out. He held out his hand to help Susan step off. When she put both feet on the ground, she surprised herself and Shane by tilting her head, stepping closer, and kissing him on the lips.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I love it already. Are these the flowers you promised?”

Shane grinned. “Yes.”

“They are perfect. This place is perfect.” Susan twirled again.

Shane walked over to the picnic table and placed the small cooler on top of it. Opening it, he pulled out two small single-serve bottles of wine. He opened one for each of them and handed one to Susan. She tipped her bottle forward and Shane clinked his against hers.

Susan sat on the bench of the picnic table, facing outward. Shane sat next to her. They both looked at the buttonbush-covered treeline and then back toward the opposite shore. The sun was about thirty minutes from setting. Oddly, Susan didn’t feel the urge to talk. She sat next to Shane, watching the water and the sunlight. The quiet of the island was a surprise to her and felt almost like meditation.

Susan didn’t realize that she reached out and grasped Shane’s right hand with her left. Their fingers curled together. She looked over at Shane and locked eyes with him. A smile broke out on her face. She leaned toward him and put her head against his right shoulder. Shane heard her sigh.

Behind them, the food Shane prepared was forgotten. Both took pleasure in the quiet and the presence of one another. Though neither knew it, each of them was experiencing an almost unfamiliar sensation: hope. After finishing their wine and placing the bottles on the table, Shane put his arm around Susan.

Maybe later Shane would assemble a bonfire so that they could make smores together. He’d let her decide.

She leaned into him.

She leaned into the future.

Lord help them both.

Love, X
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An Afternoon In Archibald County(A Story)

“Jones, are you still out by Highway 63?” Deputy Jones heard his radio go off as he urinated by his truck. He finished, reached up, and held the send button on his shoulder-mounted radio. “Copy. Yeah, taking care of business,” he replied. The deputy raised his left hand to wave at Joe Smith as he drove by. Joe shook his head and waved with an index finger.

Jessie, the Sheriff’s wife who also served as dispatcher, secretary, and sometimes backup deputy answered, “Didn’t need to know that. Shake it off and go see what’s going on at Dave’s house, would you?” Jessie was accustomed to hearing the two deputies use the radio like teenage boys.

“Copy, be there in three minutes.” Deputy Jones laughed, knowing that Jessie would immediately chastise him for speeding.

He didn’t wait long. “Jones, you drive a Ford. It can’t go faster than 50 without taking a break.”

Deputy Jones didn’t ask what the disturbance was at Dave’s house. Dave used to be a hell-raiser until he met his wife June. Last weekend, June had met Dave on their porch as he came home from work and gave him an ultimatum: quit coming home after drinking or she’d leave. Sheriff Thomas made it clear to both deputies that he couldn’t allow Dave to return to his old ways. Their holding cell held only two people at a time and the sheriff couldn’t afford to drive Dave to the next county every weekend.

Deputy Jones floored his Ford pickup and turned down the last gravel road to Dave and June’s place in less than six minutes. As the deputy neared Dave’s house near the end of the road, he saw Dave standing next to his Chevy truck. The deputy didn’t hold Dave’s poor choice of trunk against Dave.

Dave held a rifle and fired shot after shot toward his porch. The deputy wasn’t worried about anyone getting shot, as Dave wasn’t that sort of person. Bullets were getting expensive, though, and Dave needed to be saving money.

Dave turned his head toward the deputy momentarily as he fired found after round at his porch. The deputy noted that one of his two rocking chairs on the far end of the porch had sustained considerable damage.

“Target practicing, Dave?” Deputy Jones had to shout between rounds as he approached Dave.

Dave lowered his rifle. He leaned it against his leg and pulled out a pack of Camels, lit one, and drew in a long drag on the cigarette.

“June left about an hour before I got home, Jones.” Dave exhaled a long blow of cigarette smoke.

“Well, she did tell you to stop going out and drinking, didn’t she?” Jones smiled.

“Yeah. But I wanted one more beer with the gang.”

Jones answered, “Did you tell her that? Or did you just stay after work and drink a couple?”

“I shouldn’t have to tell her every damned thing I do, Jones. She knows I’m not up to no good.” Dave sounded like he doubted what he was saying.

“She’s pregnant, Dave. It’s her job to teach you common sense.”

Dave half-smiled. “I have plenty of common sense!”

Jones shook his head. “Nah, you don’t. Not only are you wasting ammunition, but you’re ruining a perfectly good rocking chair. And hanging out after work with those hooligans doesn’t get you anywhere. You need to be at home, taking care of your beautiful wife.”

“Are you calling my wife pretty, Jones?” He paused. “Well, she is pretty, that’s for damned sure. And I won’t need two rocking chairs if June ain’t coming back.”

“Dave, this is what the sheriff’s wife would call a wake-up call. She’s not leaving you unless you give her no choice.” Deputy Jones put his hand on Dave’s shoulder for a moment.

“I can have a beer after work, can’t I? I work hard.”

Jones nodded. “Of course. But here’s an idea. Why not come home and cook some food out here on the grill and have a couple of friends come to celebrate with you and June instead of you sitting up at the stupid bar?”

Dave looked like he’d accidentally chewed a grasshopper. “You are a genius, Jones. You think it’d be all right with June?”

Jones nodded again. “I’m sure of it. Why don’t you call her and ask her? You know she’s at her sister’s house.”

“I’ll drive over and ask her right now!” Dave flicked his cigarette into the yard.

“Word of advice, Dave. The sheriff wants you to stop getting into your truck after you drink, as a courtesy to your fellow Archibald County residents. Besides, you’re going to have a kid in a few months.”

Dave froze. “Dang it. I wasn’t ready to have a kid.”

“That’s how life is. Besides, what did you think would happen if you kept putting your moves on June?”

They both laughed.

The deputy took his pistol from the holster on his right hip and aimed it at the rocking chair without any damage. He fired six shots, one after the other. Each bullet shattered pieces and splinters off of the unharmed rocking chair.

“Damn it, Jones, you ruined my other rocking chair! Now I have to buy two!” Dave shouted in surprise.

The deputy put his gun back in the holster and laughed. “That’s the cost of having me come out and talk sense into you. I saved your marriage. Are you gonna complain about needing two rocking chairs?”

Dave grinned ear to ear and leaned his rifle against his truck. He held his hand out to Deputy Jones, who shook it with a laugh.

“Go inside and call June. Tell her I said hello. That way she’ll know that you talked to someone with sense.” The deputy grinned and gave Dave a one-finger salute.

“Thanks, Jones. Call me if that useless Ford of yours breaks down on the way home.” He returned the one-finger salute to the deputy as he walked back to his truck.

Deputy Jones hit the send button on his radio. “Jessie, what we have here is just a case of target practice. Two rocking chairs are down.”

Jessie’s voice answered. “10-4. Joe called to say you were urinating on the road again. You have to stop doing that in front of people.”

Jones immediately replied, “If I do it behind people, they tend to get nervouser.”

“Nervouser isn’t a word, Jones.”

Deputy Jones laughed. “Maybe, but you understood me.”

Jessie hit the send button too soon because Deputy Jones heard the beginning of a laugh on her end. “No one understands you. Over.”

As the deputy backed out to turn around and head back to town, he watched as Dave walked up on the porch and inside his house.

He shook his head and floored the gas on his truck. Dust followed him as he left. Another day in Archibald County.

X

A Dinner of Light (A Story)

Logan smiled as he poured a small drink for Joan. He placed it on the bench to his left as he poured one for himself.

“This isn’t what I imagined when you invited me to an intimate dinner at a nice place,” Joan said, teasing him.

Logan waved in the direction of the creek below. “This? Best reservation in town. You’ll see.”

The bench sat atop a small rise, looking down toward a gurgling creek. Trees canopied on both sides of the water. The sun was behind the trees and declining in the sky. An occasional bright beam of sun reached them through the mass of trees. The air smelled of honeysuckle and water.

From the insulated backpack at his feet, Logan pulled a sealed container and popped it open. Inside were a dozen slices of cheese, each a slightly different color, shape, and texture.

He held it in front of Joan. She took a wedge from the container and nibbled on it.

“Yum! I didn’t know I was this hungry.” Joan laughed.

“Take a sip of the whiskey. It’ll surprise you.”

Joan held the small glass to her lips and sipped. The ice clinked on the glass as she did. Her eyes widened slightly.

“This is amazing. I don’t really like whiskey.”

Logan smiled. “Honestly? Me neither.”

They both took little bites of cheese and an occasional sip of whiskey. Each of them attempted to take furtive glances at each other without being obvious. It wasn’t working.

Logan looked at his watch.

“Someplace to be,” Joan asked, teasing him again.

“Yes, right here. Two minutes away from the spectacle, if I timed it correctly.”

Joan laughed. She realized he wasn’t joking about something about to happen. She had no idea what it might be and it was refreshing.

Joan and Logan reached for a piece of cheese simultaneously, taking the last two wedges. After finishing his piece, Logan bent down and removed another contained from the backpack. He opened it and tilted it so that Joan could see the contents.

Inside the container was a sandwich cut in half diagonally.

“I could eat the container at this point, Logan.”

“Me too,” he said and looked directly at her face. His cleverness always sat on the periphery of conversation.

Joan reached for half the sandwich and took a bite.

As she half-covered her mouth, she said, “This is good, Logan!”

“Thank you. It’s infused cream cheese, thin cucumber slices, butter lettuce, and bacon. I had a hunch you’d enjoy it.”

“I do!” She took a sip of whiskey and placed the glass back on the bench. She immediately took another bite as Logan did the same and watched her face indirectly.

Logan noticed a brighter glimmer of sunlight pass across them.

“It’s starting. Just in time.”

Joan looked up in the trees across the creek as Logan pointed. Little dancing bright lights oscillated from between two of the taller tree branches. She could almost see the object hanging below one of the branches. Within seconds, the object cast dozens of colored reflections across the branches below it.

“It’s like fireworks with light! It’s beautiful.”

“Isn’t it? It was rough calculating the angle of the sun without it being in our eyes.”

Joan hesitated. “You mean you put whatever that is up in the tree?”

Logan shrugged and laughed. “Yes. It took me five tree climbs to figure out the height and angle.”

“Seriously? That’s impressive.”

They both watched for about half a minute as the sparkles diminished.

Joan finished her sandwich and applauded softly. As she looked at Logan, he nodded his head. Joan found the gesture to be endearing.

“I wish it lasted longer, but it’s like a sunset. It’s only the first glance that lights you up inside.” Even though Logan said it casually, Joan somehow knew he was exposing an essential part of himself. She felt a tiny spark of interest light up inside her, too.

“Are you game for having dessert non-traditionally, Joan? It’s up to you.”

Without hesitation, she said, “Of course.”

“Let’s take our shoes off then, shall we?” He turned slightly away and began removing his shoes, then his socks. She did the same.

“We need to Tom Sawyer our pants, too.” Logan laughed. He suspected Joan hadn’t rolled her pants up in… maybe never.

Joan leaned over and rolled her pants up on both legs. She stood up from the bench. “I look ridiculous!” She laughed, as she turned in a pirouette.

“Anything but that, believe me,” Logan said, watching her spin as if she were twenty years younger.

Logan bent and removed another deeper container from the backpack. It rattled a little as he picked it up.

“Let’s go to the creek.”

Joan offered him her left hand and he took it in his. Neither stopped to think that it felt as natural as if they’d known each other for a decade instead of a week.

Logan led the way down, moving at an angle. Joan saw a break in the grass and little bushes along the creek’s edge. Logan stepped on a flat rock sitting slightly above the water. The creek was clear and moving faster than she’d imagined.

“It’s a little colder than you would think. It feels amazing, trust me.” He looked back to Joan, who met his eyes.

Logan stepped into the creek and on the limestone exposed under the water. Joan followed him. As the cold water covered her feet past her ankles, she said, “Wow.” She laughed and looked at him. Logan seemed a little puzzled, standing there with the dessert container. Shards of light passed across him from the sun peeking through the trees.

“Been a while since you’ve been in a creek, Joan?”

She nodded. “Yes. Why has it been so long? This is amazing!”

Logan flipped the lid over. Joan saw that there were two plastic cups inside, as well as two small spoons. Each cup held what looked like fudge. Whatever it was, if it were half as good as the cheese and sandwich, she might wrestle both of them away from him.

Joan removed one of the cups and a spoon. Logan took the other and then lightly tossed the container onto the bank. He waited for her to taste the first bite.

As the mousse touched Joan’s mouth, her eyes lit up again. “I taste chocolate and coffee and something else. It’s delicious, Logan.”

Logan took a bite of his. He was more interested in watching Joan. She didn’t hide her pleasure when eating. She seemed to be that way about everything.

“I don’t think I’m ever going to forget this feeling. Standing in a cold creek and eating the best mousse I’ve ever eaten.” Joan looked Logan directly in the eyes and winked.

“You won’t have to.” Logan laughed.

“My my. That’s confidence,” Joan said, teasing him for the tenth time.

“I will always climb a tree for you if I can.” Even though Logan smiled as he said it, Joan felt a delicious chill run across her spine.

A couple of minutes later, after standing quietly in the water and holding hands, Logan led her out of the creek. The sun now nestled barely visible behind the tree line and probably the horizon. Logan picked up the dessert container and led them back to the bench. Without discussion, they sat on the bench again. Joan moved closer to him and she felt his arm around go around her shoulders.

They both looked across the creek as the shadows grew long. They sat quietly, each thinking the thoughts that people consider when optimism pays a visit.

X

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Freely Erroneous

I l-o-v-e hearing words mispronounced. It is usually a sign that someone has learned a word from reading it. I devised this couplet to remind people to encourage language and vocabulary instead of mocking it. English “rules” are arbitrary and devised with no rhyme or reason. We owe it to the stupidity of our language to mess with every aspect of it. Think about the magic of language. We translate little squiggles into ideas in our heads. And then we argue how the imaginary and arbitrary symbols are supposed to look or sound. As I age, my tolerance for supercilious and snarky attitudes has plummeted. Say it wrong. Spell it wrong. This language belongs to all of us. All the rules we claim will one day be meaningless. Since I speak and read more than one language, I am comfortable and fearless in navigating all the errors I make when communicating. Most people are nervous when speaking or writing. There’s no reason to be. No matter how careful you are, you’ll sound or seem a bit ignorant to someone, somewhere. You have permission to break the language. If you run into someone who is a bit of a wet blanket about your right to do so, look them in the eye and say, “I’d like an eXpresso.” And prance away. 

X

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Apathy

i caressed her lightly across the nape of the neck

because such touch signals connection

she turned her head to see who it might be

and it was me

i wasn’t expecting fireworks or glee

and certainly not my perplexity

her eyes remained passive

no upturn of lip and no instinctive lean or reach toward me

it was apathy, and observation

reciprocity of reaction is what we take for granted

where interest or love intertwine

i turned and let my feet fleet me away

i left changed

knowledge is pitiless
X

Creeper

creeper

in the moon’s embrace you prowl
a phantom of obsidian head and secrets
eyes like shards of fractured glass
watching and tracking her every step

you had your chance and now it’s flown
your deepest secrets on display and shown

she asked for honesty, attention, and time

you made her an option and squandered her touch
your interest morphed into obsession
though she’s free of your clutch

move your fingers from the keys in front of you
go out aside and get perspective

she’s gone
she’s gone

and you should be too

poet

poet

she told me with certainty that I was already a poet
that the day would not come in which it dawned upon me that I indeed was

it was not intended as a compliment
no more than noting the weather had shifted

almost mumbling, she added that rules in poetry are like ducks with paper clips

her words put an image in my head
just as sometimes mine remind you of an emotion

i am a poet and have been for years

it’s not a question

sometimes we need permission from strange sources

and sometimes little scribbles on a page translate viscerally into ideas

language is both for the meticulous user and the abuser

there is no deed or title for expression

i am both failure and success

X
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The Woman On The Yellow Bicycle

In the golden haze of morning light, she pedals along, a vision bright.
Her wheels spin like sunflowers in bloom, an almost invisible comet through street and gloom.

Her basket holds secrets and love, gifts of kindness, love, and respite.

She leaves silent grace, a trail of hope and joy in her tire track’s embrace.

Her gifts are often sublime.

She may leave you energy to bounce through the day.

And for others, she grants a moment of peace. Sometimes, that’s more than enough.

You don’t hear much about the woman or her yellow bicycle.
That’s the way she prefers it,

It’s likely that you won’t see her approach.
She prefers anonymity when possible.

She’s not a guardian angel or a phantasm.

She is love and action in motion. Love is always in motion.

.

I wanted to remind you of the lady on the yellow bicycle. It seems that only a few of us can see her. May she visit you soon and often.

Ask me if she’s real. She is to those who believe in magic that fires through our lives and hearts. Look closely, fellow travelers. Everything that matters is invisible; her basket is filled with these things.

And if you don’t see her? BE her disciple in any way you’re capable.

Love, X
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A Parable IV

I found myself at the grocery store at 6 a.m. I wanted to go earlier, but COVID ruined such earlier adventures. I had no shopping list and was letting my whims propel my feet around the store. As usual, I spent excessive time in the sauce aisle; I can eat cardboard, provided I have sufficient things to dip it in.

Eventually, I searched for kale, lettuce, or mustard greens in the produce aisle. While sorting the lettuce, I heard a man behind me clearing his throat. Assuming I was in someone’s way, I turned and stepped aside.

An older man stood about five feet away. In his hand, he held a single green apple.

“Good morning, X,” he said and twirled the apple in his fingers.

Three weeks had passed since I last saw the man who once answered to the name Joshua. He looked different, something I realized would probably be the case each time I encountered him.

I knew not to engage in small talk. Whatever his reason for finding me, passing the time idly wasn’t on his agenda.

“You can’t be sure how the apple tastes, can you, X? It could be bitter or brown on the inside. No one enjoys that.”

I nodded. “Yes, we do focus on the appearance and just trust that it’s delicious.”

“Nature and evolution have designed things so that beauty attracts. It’s the way of things. Everything here is probably safe unless you’re allergic.” He smiled slightly and waited for me to formulate a reply.

“The same is true for people, Joshua. I wish it weren’t so.”

“X, beauty attracts. Even in the wild, that’s how it works, for either mating or consumption. A bird sees a brilliant red berry and swoops to eat it, not knowing it might be poisonous. Or if it does eat it, the same bird passes the seeds far away, ensuring the plant survives. It’s fascinating. Beauty has its purpose but beguiles when it conceals something else.”

I moved slightly closer to the produce bins and out of the aisle. “Sometimes I wish I were blind around people. It would make life easier.”

Joshua shook his head. “If you’re hinting at love and attraction, you’re right. Beauty attracts – but it doesn’t keep us close. A famous song once said that a pretty face doesn’t make a pretty heart.”

“No truer words have been spoken, Joshua.”

“It’s why you are designed with primal instincts. But it’s also why you have reason to overcome emotion. If you practice, you learn to see what’s on the inside of someone before taking a proverbial bite.” Joshua softly laughed. “We know how that usually works out.”

I laughed in response. “Our senses are designed to bring pleasure and seek out flavor, aroma, and beauty. We can eat our favorite meal, but if we smell barbeque, our desire for it almost cancels out what we’re having.”

“Ideally, you find someone who attracts you and has the capacity for love, humor, and understanding. But if they are like a bad apple, you won’t know until you bite. The error falls on you when you recognize the taste is off, but continue to let beauty dissuade you from getting another apple. You keep eating the same apple or keep picking up the same kind.” Joshua grinned slightly.

“If that’s the case, how do you know you’ve got a good apple, Joshua?”

Joshua smiled. “By observing their behavior, as I’ve told you before. It’s always in the behavior. Good people behave lovingly, have compassion, and don’t engage in complexity when dealing with others. They are who they say they are, and they do what they say they will. Beauty will fade. Character and who they are will not diminish with time.”

“What kind of apple do you recommend today?” I wasn’t sure if I was speaking metaphorically. I’d let Joshua decide.

“There are so many varieties of apples, X. Some of the best ones look less appealing but conceal a lot of flavor. You’ll know when you bite and find one suited to you.” Joshua smiled.

I smiled as I moved toward the display of apple varieties. As Joshua watched, I chose two random apples from six bins and put them in my basket.

Joshua laughed. “You’re learning, X.”

“I’m not so sure, Joshua.”

“That’s good. Certainty is the hallmark of closed minds. People with doubts keep learning and seeking.” With these words, Joshua turned and walked away and out of sight around the next aisle.

Love, X