Bottled air, these bubbles of condensation are caught in a green tinted bottle that used to hold apple blossom body spray. They look like little apples themselves. Droplets of freshness, yet doomed to become stale in their plastic prison, they are nevertheless a little work of art all by themselves.
text and photo © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2017
Sit, come sit, come sit awhile, on tender grass and true. Feel softness bite gently into your thighs from still stone and muddy moss. Picnic here and ponder apples and what forces them to fall, munch them, spit the pips, crunch the peel, savour the green and let the juice run freely inside and out, throat sandwiched between rivulets of life’s nectar. Here no-one is watching, no-one is judging the neatness of your knees, the correctness of your posture, the perfection of your pores, simply sit and eat, ferment in the sunny haze like cider, becoming richer every minute, stewing in your own sap. Come sit, sit awhile, and think on little things. Watch the bugs and sing to snails, dream of childhood tales, of cabbages and kings.
© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016
Photo from morguefile.com