A Saturday Afternoon
by Josh Capelin
Josh is one of our Writer's Residency finalists and will be published in our upcoming Anthology later this year. Read more about the program - and meet all the finalists - here. --
I drink a small
Yellow and orange. A hive of geometry. Half in and half out. Half normal and half…
cup
I sleep and wake. Noble silence amongst friends. Hours pass. And then I need to stand. Shirt off. I sun salute and in a corner of hardwood, I lean, impossibly comfortable as I watch thick sunlight yellow thinnish gums. I watch nature. And I fall for it. Hard.
of mushrooms
I lie on a deck. I’m timeless. What is it? 4pm? Whatever it is, it’s slow.
and cacao
In front of me a tall tree, split screens the sky. I’ll only notice later, its canopy, a lace at the top of my world. Slowly a cloud, the peach dance of a torn cloud catches my eye and I watch it. cease to exist. And I realise it was possibly the single most beautiful thing I have ever witnessed. And that it’s happening again.
it won’t be the
I drift right and notice three black birds flying. their joy as they swoop and circle. I smile at their friendship. I also instantly know they are crows and I also know I have never seen or thought of a crow as happy. And this makes me so.
last
And then the fern. It all started with the fern. The end of one sunlight dipped, a duotone green. Impossibly green. Magically green. I could get lost and never come back in that green. some prose in my head formed but is lost now, in that moment, while the moment, all these moments remain.
time.