There is a cherry sitting on my desk. Much like the one shown here, the skin enveloping the inevitable tastiness ranges in hue from deep burgundy to sinful scarlet. The gentle slope of the curving towards the stem is … startling. The stem seems interminably long, providing what I’m sure was once it’s umbilical cord to the cherry mother ship.
I can see my reflection in the skin. The world behind me lays in a fruity warp with the single white hazy point coming from the overhead fluorescent that set my office aglow.
I sit here with this cherry on my desk, having rolled it round betwixt my index fingers for some time now, chasing that white haze across it’s surface. I’ve tried to trick it once or twice with a hasty change of direction (perhaps thinking that the little spot of white haze would teeter precariously on the cherry’s brink and fall, landing haphazardly on a Post-It note like aftermath in a Liquid Paper murder).
Damnedest thing is — you can’t hoodwink the light.
No matter which direction I choose, the certain white haze remains transfixed. While its reflection may become slightly mottled from the surface it must launch from, it endures regardless of my antics.
It’s funny how fruit has this morning reminded me that I should never forget where I’m going and that there’s something for certain that we all tread amidst. I guess I can change direction in life as much as my heart desires, but that light is always going to be there to guide me when I’m ready to see it’s glow again.
I need to re-read The Alchemist. Urim and Thummim are calling.