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September 24, 2006

Sunday, 8am

Silence reigns all around me as I settle into the soft black leather chair in my living room, a steaming cup of tea on one of the arms. The tea warms me from the inside out, limbering my hands to type one word after another. The clickety-clack of the keys on my laptop breaks the silence of the morning. The round marble-topped table, standing on ornately-carved legs, is full of the detritus of my life: an open binder; a French press, half full of tea and resting on a cork coaster; my day planner, bound in red leather, etched with the date 2006; a large pink eraser and two mechanical pencils (why two? Because one is out of lead); a magazine flipped open to the last article read; a manila folder waiting to go upstairs to be filed; a linen-lined wicker basket, brimming over with my latest knitting project – bamboo needles and purple heathered yarn; a cordless phone, poised to ring; my own slippered feet resting one on top of the other. In the center of this antique table, in the place of honor, stands an ovoid glass vase holding an arrangement of dying flowers, identical in type, though varied in height, sitting in a cloudy pool of brackish water. Brown and withered leaves overhang the side of the vase, yet the bright colors of the now-drooping petals testify to their one-time cheeriness: from yellow centers spring white petals tipped with purple. For nearly three weeks, this bouquet stood like a sentinel, tall and proud, keeping watch over the whirlwind of life taking place around it: heated debates over the daily newspaper; informal meals shared on the couch; reading, writing, knitting, and television-watching. But now, tired, and rank, their life cycle is over. Soon they will join the compost pile, seeping back into the earth from whence they came.

Posted by eklanche at September 24, 2006 08:44 AM

Comments

And join the compost pile they did. And they were welcome there, among the eggshells and the banana peels, among the hollowed out avocados and the carrot tops, among the gently rotting vegetable detritus of our lives.

Oh, and technically, the water (which joined them in the pile) wasn't brackish, which means slightly salty. It was just dirty.

(Since you're white, I feel comfortable correcting you.)

Posted by: dmerch at September 26, 2006 09:48 AM

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