Ramblings in a 50 post

Oh, yey! Joyous yey, I made it to 50 posts and I have twice that many views. My blog is growing, who knew this could be so much fun and substance (Microsoft’s synonym for stuff). For celebration I might write a story.
The aisles were cool, the refrigerated air sinking lower, frisking my bare heels as I walked between the low piled stacks of fresh fruit. Stickers of the various countries of origin hidden underneath the plastic bags, the fleshy skin pressing into the racks, kiwis and pomegranates looking back at me as I rolled my cart past the displays, the right front wheel wobbling and squeaking. My eyes were glazed, droopy with the cool AC, cold air draping itself along my damp hair that still smelled of chlorine, the chill prickling along the sun burnt brown of my skin and dulling the oncoming heat stroke. The produce section had to be my favorite part of the store in the summer, the rich summer vegetables were finally ripe naturally, not gassed like the tomatoes of January. I picked up only the exotics while I was there, plantains and pineapples, things that would complement the growing variety of freshly grown vegetables that hard work, a couple wheelbarrows of rocks and countless blisters had finally sprouted from the Earth. This far into the season I couldn’t clean the dirt out of my nails except when I spent the whole day at the pool, drenching my skin in the glorious chemical chlorine and developing sunglass tans as I lay out on the cement pool deck, taking a break from the chilly, summer water. That’s where I had been, before coming here, restocking on only the essentials. Fruit, vegetables, bread. The only things to eat when it was this hot, running when imbibing anything thicker or more filling would be treacherous territory when the world was burned this sweating. I wheeled along, thinking of The Lord of the Flies, how the boys couldn’t survive on the fruit. In the summertime I reverted to vegetarianism, the body reacting calmly to the garnet strawberries, peridot pea gems picked fresh and eaten, still in their pods by the wandering hungry gardener. Maybe I just had too much time on my hands, to grow fruit this well, but maybe it was just my calling. Looking now inside the misty lots I saw other people’s handy work, shined up and marketed to me, gleaming. “Sitting in an English garden, waiting for the sun.”, checking out I watched other people with beer and meat cookies…..



To be continued when I wake up....