11 July, 2009

~ Peaches ~

I am five. It is the first year I have been allowed to go on holidays with my parents, and we have driven across four provinces to visit Grandma (whom I have missed every day since they moved from Manitoba) and Grandpa (who is sometimes cross).

We are out touring, seeing the valleys and the orchards, marvelling at the
mountains. It is getting on in the day, and the light has begun to change colour. It must be ninety degrees, the grown ups have said, and isn’t it hot, they have asked one another, then murmured in agreement.

Grandma and I are sitting together on the passenger
side in the back seat. The world flies past outside the car, and stands still inside it. Grandma shows me how to properly experience the peaches we bought at a roadside stand, peaches larger than both my fists together. She shows me how to brush them against my face, and feel their velvety sun-warmth before I bite through their skins. Peach juice runs down our hands, our wrists, our arms, and we lick it off ourselves and off each other's elbows. What we aren’t licking, we wipe away with Kleenex because we can’t keep up, the peaches are so juicy. We are shaking with the effort of muffling our giggles, our sight blurs with tears of silent laughter. We are being as quiet as we can be so Grandpa doesn't notice us, see the mess we are making of ourselves, and get cross.

The window is open and Grandma's hair dances around her temples. The evening light has made her cheeks the colour of our peaches. I lay my head against her chest and look up to see the slanting rays have illuminated the fine hairs on her face, creating a delicate halo.

The peaches are Grandma, Grandma is the peaches.

We are sticky and full to the top, and we smell as sweet as summertime. Grandma smiles and closes her eyes against the sun, and so do I.

This moment never, ever ends....

Peace ~

7 comments:

Anonymous said...

It always amazes me how you are able to draw pictures with words. But this time you not only drew a picture, you evoked a smell - of peach juice.
J

Anonymous said...

When I was a girl, I too, ate sun warmed peaches. There has been nothing since that has ever come close to the taste of peach juice running through my fingers.
When I became pregnant peaches were the one thing I craved.
Store bought peaches now are hard tasteless little nuggets.
There is much to be thankful for in my past, tree ripened peaches have to be one of them.
Thanks for taking my thoughts back in time, Em. Robin

doulanana said...

I wandered over to visit you and as always was treated to your beautiful prose! That was beautiful!
Hope all is well with you my friend.

nscropper said...

Beautiful ... I love to read your stories and adventures and you put so much life into it that a person feels as if they are there sharing those peaches. :)

Tammy said...

I feel like I am there and I can smell the peaches :-)

MonaS! said...

Hey lady, how are you? It seems like years since I've spoken with you! Hope you are having a marvelous summer. We are just home from Winnipeg and glad to be so. Figured I needed to check up on you and see what you were up to. Pop by and say hi sometime!

Connie Nichol said...

Hey Mylene, I miss your blogging! I nominated you for an award on my blog if you want to play.