The Art Site

Monday, May 24, 2010

Rain and Kiwifruit

That title makes me laugh. Sometimes there are these little incidents in my day, and they may have nothing to do with each other, but they just feel blog-worthy. Usually I have to make them blog worthy by describing the scenario in (what I mean to be) a vivid way, so that you can appreciate them for yourself, rather than write me off as a nut-job. (Which I am, and feel free at any time to do so. It could hurt my pride, but don't worry, you'll never kill it off). That said, I'll begin..
...
It was raining today. It does that sometimes: the sky gets all cross and sulky; it covers up all its happy blue mood in a nasty, smoky gray coat, then has a tantrum and throws cold tears everywhere. Sometimes, when it gets really upset, mini-waterfalls start splashing and gurgling in every drain in the city, and pools and puddles grow and get deeper and start spreading out on to the road. Then cyclists can't avoid all the puddles and they get themselves soaked, while cars zoom by, splashing themselves into the grand swimming pool puddles that make walls of water as the tires go through.
That's what happened today.

Slanting rain fell quietly but heavily on the road as the cyclist cycled. Each raindrop that fell on the cyclist exploded noiselessly and absorbed itself into the fabric of the cyclist's coat. The black woolen jacket still kept the cyclist warm, but very gradually and imperceptibly, it got heavier. Thin fabric, most unsuited to wet-weather cycling, encased the cyclist's legs, and quickly the light brown fabric was stained a deep brown with soaked fibers.

Although the cyclist was wearing a sporty red helmet, the cyclist was not wearing a rain-proof coat and hood, and therefore the slanting rain drummed through the helmet and transformed the brave, bouncing hair into strings. The cyclist blinked raindrops from ___ eyes and resolved to wear a rain jacket next time.
...
While writing the above, I felt it was strangely reminiscent of another blog which I used to read. In style, rather than in value. The blogger stopped writing a long time ago, and the unwritten blog became merely a statistic in the ranks of all the other forlorn, unwritten blogs. The writing that happened on the blog was good; it was unique, and powerful in places. More's the pity the blogger stopped writing.
And now, for kiwifruit.

...
Tonight I had a sudden, inexplicable urge to eat kiwifruit. It all started when I walked past the fruit bowl in the hallway..
Hastily, I grabbed one which felt like the perfection-of-ripeness and crept into the kitchen, grabbing a spoon and an oh-so-sharp Swiss knife. It was excellent.

Cutting through the misleadingly nasty, furry, brown, leathery, skin stuff, the vibrant green-streaked, tiny, shiny black seed-embedded fruit with the creamy oval of whiteness in the middle brought me back to my childhood..
When we used to eat kiwifruit for morning tea, and the sharp, burning tang of the kiwifruit left our tongues all raw and prickly-feeling.

One wasn't enough, yet three was almost too much. At around about two-and-a-half kiwifruit your taste buds declare 'no more' and the extra half kiwifruit is almost wasted as you dutifully gulp it down.
I never used to have much of a thing for this national fruit, but now I truly appreciate them.

- Lydie

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