A little escapee for those that wish it. The weather this time of the year warm and inviting. The smell of the mangos ripe on trees, harvested by dark little natives.
As a father climbs up on a rock with a machete, his little boy walks up to me.
He asks a question in Tamil, if I was in fact lost.
My eyes widened at the child, I didn't quite answer. The fabric of my shorts itched.
He plucked one of the gathered mangos from his pouch and skillfully cut it with a sharp knife. The mango a hedgehog, the boy ate it in front of me, and offered me the pit.
I grasped the pit in my hand, feeling the weight of it.
I said to him a phrase in Mandarin, he willfully nodded. The leaves of the sweet-smelling trees rattled in the wind.
I kneeled and dug into the Earth with my bare hands. His father came by on the boy's shoulder.
With the sugary pit in hand, I saw a thousand little worker ants go about their business. I dug further. The boy and his father watched. My taste on my tongue was funny.
Earthworms and millipedes, little dirty pebbles.
They stood respectfully and at full attention, the boy a gleeful eyes. My fingernails raw.
I dug further.
The bedrock had came, the sky had darkened. A cool breeze washed over the landscape. I stood at the end, and I dug, and dug, and dug.
Emerging from a little corner on the dark side, I sit at my laptop, typing. It is 1:30 pm.
This side a bit more non-carbonated and caffeine free, the fruits not as fresh. Realizing the scope of the work abreast, and all of the worldly distractions at hand, I hit publish.