I sit out on the back steps, letting the last of the Autumn light run down over my shoulders. In the yard, under the canopy of the old oak, bronze leaves come loose from the branches. Float and spin down slow.
A mixing bowl of cool water rests between my knees, and under the surface, wrist-deep, I break open the husk of a pomegranate and watch the bright red bleed out:
And I suppose there’s some quiet truth I could puzzle out here, if I wanted — something about brokenness and beauty. The way the most precious part lies hidden beneath the skin, glittering in the dark, waiting for the peeling back of the layers.
But today, for now, I don’t want to pin the meaning down into words.
So instead I sit very still and soak in this last warm sun on my skin.
I sweep the white pith from the surface.
Throw it out.
Cup the arils like tiny rubies in my palm.
This moment, I tell myself: This.
I lift my hand to my lips…
For today, this moment is enough. ❤