The Classic Prompt
Imagine. Just for a minute close your eyes, take a deep breath, and imagine the sun. Not high in the sky, but low, just about to rise over the hills with a color that preludes day. Now imagine. If anything was possible, you could pick it up with just one hand and it would fit there easily, your fingers not quite able to cup all the way around it. It is heavier than you thought, right? The surface is smooth and dimpled with that color of wakefulness. You could toss ti up in the air and catch it, but take a moment first to smell the hint of potential about it and wonder what it is made of. What if you peeked inside? You might find that the outside is easily pierced. You can dig your nails in, then drop it in shock when sweet, sticky water spills down your wrists and squirts you in the face. Pick it up though. Dust it off and look again. Put your face right into the opening. Doesn’t the smell open your eyes? Aren’t you smiling right now? If you look closer, you can see tha the sweet sticky substance is in individual miniature pouches, as though seeds made of bright water. You can carefully pry one away from its casing. If you put it in your mouth and pop it against your palette with your tongue, you can taste a ray of sunshine. We call it an orange.
Offensive Amaryllis
The amaryllis vulgaris does not initially live up to its name. It is beautiful and reminiscent of Christmas. The flower perches on a long gray stalk that is decorated at the base with fanning green leaves. The flowers are a bright and cheerful red, trimmed with white and with a white stripe down the middle of each petal. The stamen earns for the flower its unsavory reputation. It is white, like a long forked tongue extending from the lovely center and as it waves a little in the breeze the smooth luster sparkles in the sun. As the flower matures, the stemen exudes a sticky nectar to lure in bees and butterflies. Wise insects collect the pollen in a hurry and move on to ensure the propagation of amaryllis vulgaris. Curious ones might dip a toe in the nectar along the stamen, might wander towards the brilliant center of the flower. Curious ones will become stuck where the nectar transitions to glue. As their feet dissolve, their body’s nutrients will gradually be digested by the flower. Mature amaryllis vulgaris are easily identified by the line of partially decayed bugs along the stamen.
Alice loved to give the amaryllis as a gift to people she was obligated to remember during the holidays, but disliked. Her great aunt, who never missed an opportunity to ask her to reexamine her life choices. Her boss, who sent her on a coffee run every day at 10am and changed his order via text at the last minute, obligating her to drink or discard a venti black with two espresso shots while he savored a flat white and called her a doll. She always sent one to Marshall, just for good measure.
Yosemite Cathedral
Yosemite is a granite cathedral in the Sierras. Its magnificent walls and buttresses are eagerly sought, painstakingly researched, and explored with flourish and satisfaction. Its painted ceiling, which shifts from azure to gray to night, is underappreciated. Patrons check it quickly, on their way to more famous pursuits only to see if it will interfere with their plans. During high summer, the thunderstorms roll in just after midday to tease them with thoughts of rain.
We arrived with our two young children in July for a family reunion. All day extended family bravely persevered through immense heat in the name of adventure. We packed water and snacks. We lured the children ahead with stories about the mountain tops they could conquer, and we dragged the wilting toddlers behind us on the south face.
The hot and dry was with us every morning, so by midday, every day, we retreated to the river. Burdened with lunches and blankets, hats and tired children, we marched through asphalt and sand until we could see cool salvation before us. The older wiser children had already arrived and were splashing and shrieking their hallelujahs like Baptists. Having dropped our weary bodies in the shade but near the water, the parents could take a moment to appreciate the adjacent exaltation. Then, the youngest needed a potty and the oldest needed goggles, so we were up and in the trenches again.
Eventually, everyone became settled and even the grown ups splashed around and were fun.
The children were just starting to murmur about snacks when the thunder first cleared its throat. It was a timid noise, a suggestion of thunder more than the real thing. Most of the swimmers and picnickers didn’t even notice the gray clouds building just beyond Half Dome. The sun still reigned over their present moment. For over an hour, however, the clouds darkened from possibly nimbus to ominous, their color reflected in the walls of granite below. Rolling and evolving, the clouds rose like celestial bread. The thunder grew to just speaking volume, before the pause. Having arrived at their predestined volume, the clouds became lighter. Still rolling over themselves, the edges faded to blue and the middle to white.
Those who had noticed the clouds, now watched them fade away. No beach goer likes lightning, but a little rain to cut the heat might not have been a bad thing. Sacrament would not come today, however.
Skins now a shade darker, or redder, our afternoon crowd packed up in search of dinner, exchanging spots with those who had brought dinner with them. Most of the people during this exchange were not at all aware of the thunder that had threatened their party. They just wandered to and from cars, faces up and mouths agape, admiring the architecture.