Barren, yet my nakedness caressed by the leaves of other trees.
I’m certain grandfather carrot grimaced as I pulled him out of the plastic bag; the one from the grocery store that identified he and his fellow carrots were “organic”.
I examined grandfather carrot closely, noting the white gnarly loopy hair that covered him, head to toe.
A raspy voice boomed out of grandfather carrot, “What are ya lookin at? You’d think you never saw hair on a carrot before.” As a matter of fact, I’ve never seen old-man-white-hair on a carrot before and I didn’t hesitate to retort that truth to grandfather carrot.
He rattled an asthmatic sounding cough, and I said, “You are not presenting yourself as edible. I may have to reconsider chopping you up for my chicken stew. Grandfather carrot laughed and said, “Go ahead brave lady. Give an old carrot a shave and I’ll show you what I’m made of!”
Grandfather carrot, after his shave and chopped to perfect bite-sized bits looked as marvellous as his fellow carrots from the bag. “Grandfather carrot, beneath your wizened old skin and copious aged white hair, you truly remained a wonderful addition for my stew.”
Of course Grandfather carrot did not respond to me, I’d chopped him up you see?
“Would you look at that?” I asked my husband.
Barry looked at me, rather than looking at where my finger was pointing as he answered my question with a question, “Look at what?” I’ve grown rather fond of this game we play with each other. We keep each other on our respective toes!
Barry chuckled and then turned his head to look at what had attracted my attention. Seeing the rake he said, “That is sad. It looks as though someone was in the act of cleaning up and something took them away from their job.” I nodded and said, “That thought makes me feel sad.”
My spirit lightened and I said, “I envision a prankster planting a rake in a somewhat frazzled mix of human and nature discards.” Barry looked at me, seeming rather puzzled and asked, “To what end?”
I laughed and answered, “The prankster would hope another would be clumsy enough to step on the rake and bop themselves in their forehead.” Barry, obviously not satisfied with my response, said, “That would be mean.” I replied, as matter of factly as I possibly could, “Yes, but I’d rather attach an image of a rake bopping a forehead than a person taken from their tasks.”
Barry pulled me close and hugged me saying, “Your friend just lost someone so dear to her. I understand.” Isn’t that the best part of long-term partnering? We don’t always have to explain our train of thought to be understood.
© Zora Zebic 2016
Here in Canada, it is Thanksgiving. The time of year when we reflect on our blessings (especially the 3-day weekend), sip Pumpkin Spice Lattes, and eat way too much. Today I want to reflect on the gift of creativity. I’ll be the first to admit it: being a writer, or any kind of artist, is […]
via The Gift of Creativity — Truth, Fact, and Fiction