Sunday, November 6, 2011

Untitled 38

Sunday brunch with coffee, black, and mimosas on the lanai discussing the avocado, papaya, orange, and grapefruit trees (swaying in the breeze with no regard to the human quibbling). Does the male papaya tree somehow intuitively know we are discussing his fate? To chop down, leave, or attempt a dangerous transplant (unlikely to succeed according to some in the midst). Let it be, says I, though that only seems to be me. Talk of plant competition, debating the merits of one tree over the other, some political candidates we have here.

I don't know if it's indifference or the Buddhist influence in my perspective, or maybe a mystical, inexplicable influence of the Beatles from years listening to the song on a friend's Dad's jukebox on lazy afternoons following freshmen and sophomore years of high school drinking cokes and eating Little Debbie snacks while talking of nothing and about no one (something and some one all the same), but I echo my refrain, Let It Be, Let It Be.

This is the expression of life unfolding unwittingly from moment to moment with no pretense and no consciousness of some higher purpose or any purpose, for that matter. The beauty of the basic unimportant moments of the day. The conversations that will be washed away as time oozes on. We grow older. We live on. We don't hold onto these moments. Though these moments are the moments of life.

"What are you studying?" someone inquires.

"I'm not. I'm writing." I respond.

"About what? About spending time with your grandmother, grandfather, and brother?"


"Well, that oughta be interesting."

"It's not. But that's why it is."

What was I writing about? Oh, yes. Trees and nothing. All the same.

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