Bread, Honey and the Sea

A Sunday among fruit, prayer, and the sea

Ten minutes by car from my home to the farm market in the heights of the city. On the way, along the road, I saw the ocean—so blue, so cold. Beautiful.

It’s not really warm this time of year. There’s still a chill in the air, although the day itself is lovely. The forecast warns of “beach hazards.”

No, I won’t go to the beach. Not yet.

I’ll wait until the weather softens and one or two friends want to come with me. There’s nothing more boring than going to the beach alone. All those men flexing their muscles while pretending not to watch the women shaking the sea from their hair…
No. Not today.

I went to Mass on this quiet Sunday and I prayed. I thought of a friend who is very far away.
I miss her.
I prayed for her.
Sometimes I believe our prayers for others are heard more clearly than the prayers we whisper for ourselves.

There are so many people in this world who need a prayer.

May ours be heard.

Then I saw the ocean again, its waves drawing white lines across the horizon.

How beautiful.

When I arrived at the farm, they welcomed me with such kindness. They are always looking for volunteers. I had hoped to spend the morning in the greenhouses, but they needed someone to deliver the harvest to the farmers’ market.

So I began carrying wooden crates overflowing with fruit.

Fruit like a poem.

Apricots, avocados, blueberries, cherries, mangoes, melons, pineapples, plums, and strawberries…

The old truck has only a small rear window, almost hidden behind the mountain of crates.
The scent of ripe fruit filled the cab.

It was intoxicating.

The perfume of fruit can be as captivating as the perfume of a beautiful woman.

Perhaps I’m a little crazy.
A poem of fruit.
Strawberries like lips meeting for a kiss.

At the market I bought a loaf of homemade bread from a lovely woman with the most magnificent smile. Her children and grandchildren were there beside her.
I also brought home fresh milk, eggs, cherries, butter, fig jam and strawberries of course.

And honey. Honey as sweet as your smile.

Later I returned to the farm to collect my old car—still so white, still so beautiful despite its years—and drove home along the road that follows the sea.

The sea was dancing to the music in my soul.

Slowly.
Slower still.

“Rest your mind,” she whispered. “Let the tensions of yesterday dissolve. Forget, for a little while, that people leave and sometimes leave us alone. Remember instead that solitude, too, can be a form of tenderness. Come closer. Feel me. Breathe me. Let me hold you in my waves. Let me sing to you the long songs of sailors who sailed away and never returned.” Come. Come.

I heard her calling.
But I didn’t go to the sea.
Not yet.

So many changes in my life.
So much sadness, too.

Tomorrow, I will pray again.