Sun is peeking out over the horizon, beams of molten
rays striking this sleeping wreck, a boost to get up and
away from these four walls. Sidewalks are empty,
just me and the clop, clop, clop of my worn shoes.
Smell the morning dew, better than a ground roast
this late Spring day. Blossoms are smiling and waving
as I stroll by. Gorgeous in their various Springtime
attire. Hues of violet, yellows, and blues so meticulously
adorned. With a basket in hand, I give a glance while
they wink in approval, knowing where my destination
will end. Barely six and overflowing with rows upon
rows of freshly picked morsels, calling my name as
if we are long lost, friends. Carrots of an orange glow
brighter than an ex-president’s skin. The tentacles of
dill, like an Irish meadow so lush and green. Berries
a succulent red, as if lips enticing you to be their
first kiss. Taste the ambrosia of the juice before
touching your waiting tongue. A pint of gherkins
ready to be brined. Tomatoes and varieties of greens
waiting patiently to be tossed. Stroll amongst the
throngs of those like me, mesmerized by the beauty
surrounding us in this yet so early dawn. Even a scent
from the fishmonger reminds you of jasmine
and lavender, or frangipani coming into bloom. Pork,
beef, and chicken are so bright in their birthday suits, A
selection fitting a bouquet for a lovers’ date. Seducing
me with their aromas and how they lay in their beds, luring
me to be beckoned by their wanton ways. I demurred as I
meandered to and fro, looking carefully for the underside
of the pig, the desirable craving for the dish tonight.
None to be found, not an ounce was in sight.
My wares piled up and my basket grew and
grew. A kaleidoscope of colors peaking above the rim,
all peering for a better view while en route to their newfound
home where they would be coddled, cuddled, and devoured
ravenously as they wished.
After 31 years in banking, John retired to follow his dream of owning a hotel in Southeast Asia. This led to many new experiences enabling John to see the world through a different lens, leading him to write his story through essays, poetry, and a yet unpublished memoir. John’s work has appeared in Native Skin, Runamok Books/Growerly, Post Roe Alternatives, Fleas on the Dog, OMQ, Open Door Magazine, SCARS poems and short stories, and others. Nothing is as it seems, and experiences are meant to shape us not define us. Life has hope, truth, and adventure, all leading to stories that must be written and told.
