Thursday, March 16, 2017

A heaven of hands

I should also mention the piece of orange peel that has lately become part of my walks. It’s in the street in front of a house nearby, out of the gutter but not far from the curb, away from traffic, and in a spot where no one usually parks. Its curved orange side is facing up. The peel-piece has been there undisturbed for a good many days now, and because of the damp weather, it has stayed as fresh as if it has just been dropped. My impression is that it fell from a heaven of hands, where the juice and pulp of oranges is savored by angels sublimely unaware of their innocence. Or a crow might have dropped it, a sort of rind-stone cowboy — you know how crows are. Or a child. But it all amounts to the same thing, which is, an ordinary reason is absolutely out of the question. Because nothing is ordinary. And now I wonder if it might not also be a little hatch to an underground world, with a tiny stairway leading down, down, down, to Jean Valjean’s sewers of Paris. A marker, perhaps, fallen from an unwritten book?


erin said...

you too? seriously?!

oh, how many times the orange peel has saved me here from sadness and ruin. it proves to me each time there is goodness in the world, life will find its way! (especially in the winter. i never see the person eating the orange. but i find the orange peel in the darnedest places!)

William Michaelian said...

Yes, me, too. Oh, lord.