Sunday, December 1, 2013


Words I overuse: maybe, probably, perhaps, also, and.

I doubt, I second guess, I can't settle. And I'm also always adding on, maybe as a way to insure and protect and soften the eventual blow.

But all of this makes me blow it. "It" being the opportunity, the game, the chance to live an afternoon free from worry and instead wrapped up in the warmth of the ripe peach straight off of the tree. The branches are arms that will either embrace or strangle; which type of branch will I choose to see? How far down the path will I go until I stop to take in the view? Nothing will offer a clue because there is no detective searching. We live the mystery and that's what makes everything worth living. The mystery is what makes the peach so sweet.

I want to sweat more while I work. I want to try, to care about the result. I don't want to protect or soften these hands. I want calluses. I want proof that the peach is worth it. And it is. Maybe, probably, perhaps one day I'll believe it for myself.

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