Snap shot
The wind through the trees is beautiful, it makes a soothing sound, lifting the waxy leaves that still hold tight to the branches and rub them together. It takes the scent of the apples along with it, heavy fruit that takes more then just a breeze to move them. But they give off their smell, luring bees and other insects to them. Luring them to lunch. Thick, heavy flies with rainbow colored wings and backs, buzzing around in packs, hoards, thick clouds that cause more noise then the wind in the branches.
At night the other insects start making their noises, to the point where the night, if you close your eyes and stand really still the night sounds louder then the day.
It's cooler at night, the sun has gone down and the heat that the grass absorbed during the day has gone. The darker the night gets, the higher the moon rises the more things seem to expand. The darkness drags them outward from their center, making them melt over the landscape, over the hill in the back of the house till earth and sky blend together.
Except tonight, the moon breaks up the blanket, cutting it to pieces with silver and light. Filtering through the branches, tripping over exposed, knotted root that couldn't stay buried in the ground. She images they are legs, ready to pick the trees up and walk them right out of the back yard, to perhaps a more exotic local.
Salome isn't paying attention to the trees tonight, she is moving through the kitchen helping her grandmother make cookies for something wholesome like the church bake sale. It's something that they do together, the boys are in the back porch, grandpa smoking his pipe and Jonba playing with building blocks. He carefully stacks one block on top of each other, trying to make a tall tower or a castle, it's uncertain what he wants, but the out come is the same. As the tower gets taller, he looks over at his grandfather expectantly, and for a moment the old man stops smoking and looks down at the boy.
He reaches out and with the toe of his shoe taps the bottom block, knocking it loose, the wooden structure buckles, collapses and everything clatters to the porch. The two year old claps his hands together and puckers his lips, "boom!"
With a slow smile, the old man goes back to his smoking while the little boy goes back to his building.
They don't talk. There doesn't seem to be any need, and the family had always been a quiet one. Comfortable silences, a radio playing off somewhere, the running of water, the creak of the porch swing. There's nothing more then that, there's no need to say anything that will disrupt the simplicity of life they have woven around them. It reminds Salome of a church. She's never been religious, but there seems to be a certain peace and protection that is granted by a church.
If God is one thing, she thinks, it's a blanket. If God is one feeling, it's peace, and if God grants one thing, it should be mercy. If God gives mercy then he should also give redemption.
If God is real.
The smell of cookies warms the kitchen, it brings Jonba's head around and even grandpa looks up from the newspaper he's picked up. The radio is playing a piano piece since grandma has finally turned of the Christian station in exchange for the classical music that reminds her of her mother. With the background music, and the kitchen clean, they retire to the back porch. Jonba climbs up on to his mother's lap and leans against her as he eats the cookie. Grandpa puts his arm over his wife's shoulder and they sit, and rock, and watch the leaves move and the earth stand still.
If God is real.
At night the other insects start making their noises, to the point where the night, if you close your eyes and stand really still the night sounds louder then the day.
It's cooler at night, the sun has gone down and the heat that the grass absorbed during the day has gone. The darker the night gets, the higher the moon rises the more things seem to expand. The darkness drags them outward from their center, making them melt over the landscape, over the hill in the back of the house till earth and sky blend together.
Except tonight, the moon breaks up the blanket, cutting it to pieces with silver and light. Filtering through the branches, tripping over exposed, knotted root that couldn't stay buried in the ground. She images they are legs, ready to pick the trees up and walk them right out of the back yard, to perhaps a more exotic local.
Salome isn't paying attention to the trees tonight, she is moving through the kitchen helping her grandmother make cookies for something wholesome like the church bake sale. It's something that they do together, the boys are in the back porch, grandpa smoking his pipe and Jonba playing with building blocks. He carefully stacks one block on top of each other, trying to make a tall tower or a castle, it's uncertain what he wants, but the out come is the same. As the tower gets taller, he looks over at his grandfather expectantly, and for a moment the old man stops smoking and looks down at the boy.
He reaches out and with the toe of his shoe taps the bottom block, knocking it loose, the wooden structure buckles, collapses and everything clatters to the porch. The two year old claps his hands together and puckers his lips, "boom!"
With a slow smile, the old man goes back to his smoking while the little boy goes back to his building.
They don't talk. There doesn't seem to be any need, and the family had always been a quiet one. Comfortable silences, a radio playing off somewhere, the running of water, the creak of the porch swing. There's nothing more then that, there's no need to say anything that will disrupt the simplicity of life they have woven around them. It reminds Salome of a church. She's never been religious, but there seems to be a certain peace and protection that is granted by a church.
If God is one thing, she thinks, it's a blanket. If God is one feeling, it's peace, and if God grants one thing, it should be mercy. If God gives mercy then he should also give redemption.
If God is real.
The smell of cookies warms the kitchen, it brings Jonba's head around and even grandpa looks up from the newspaper he's picked up. The radio is playing a piano piece since grandma has finally turned of the Christian station in exchange for the classical music that reminds her of her mother. With the background music, and the kitchen clean, they retire to the back porch. Jonba climbs up on to his mother's lap and leans against her as he eats the cookie. Grandpa puts his arm over his wife's shoulder and they sit, and rock, and watch the leaves move and the earth stand still.
If God is real.