Another bowl of fruit sits before me, 12 blackberries and an apricot, the twin of yesterday's morning joy. I imagine what summer must have been like, thousands of years ago, when people lived according to the seasons and according to what nature provided. It must have been the best thing in life. Sweetness. Juiciness. Joy.
For a season. A long one. With it's ongoing array of loveliness. Berries into stone fruits into root vegetables. The rise of light with the sun, and then it's slow draining away as the days grew colder and the bounty from the earth became more substantial.
Sometimes I wonder about the transition into winter. And what it must have felt like to go from long, sunny, warm days and into the deep cold and darkness. From abundance into lack. The edible green disappears. There might be meat. But even that then disappears. For a season.
I imagine the first green shoots rising in the earliest days of spring, when snow still covers the ground, sent hearts and hope soaring. I think about gardens today and how some of the first things to come in and be ready to eat are greens. Was that the experience of our early ancestors? Did they look for early greens in places where they'd grown before?
I suppose I'm thinking about some of this because I'm planning to do the optional three-day fast that begins tomorrow. I think about how fortunate I am that a fast can be optional for me. And if I'm honest, I will admit that there's something about the idea of a water fast that calls up some deep and ancient feelings. I look for clarity about how to describe them. They are not exactly negative or fear-based, but they speak to me about why I would choose a fast when there is so much beautiful food available to eat.
Why choose a fast, indeed?
The Green Wilderness is a daily writing practice that opens a landscape of discovery into my own human experience.
Katherine Cartwright has been blogging since 2012, and each year brings new wonders. She asks big questions of the small things in life.
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