a thin slice of life

my father tells me about a time
 when they use to cut  apples in thin slices
so to dry them, save them and put them away
for the harsh winter to come

my father tells me that the old saying
  " all was better in the old days" it is not true
back then you would wait tediously wait
 for the summer to arrive

it was worse back then
it was much worse ye says
and yet
at least you knew where you stood
and right there you would rest firm,
you would live sinking among the clods of mud in the fields
and you would irrigate that soil with smiles and tears
mixed with the anxiety of knowing if the good harvest will arrive or not
and then you would celebrate with a big feast
and there you stood
on a single clod of mud you stood

you would feel your own birth and death with every round of seasons, as a chill over the shoulders
and you would breath in life all the way, deeply and clean

my father says
 it was tough back then
and yet, now he says
- I would give everything  I own
to taste just a single slice of that apple
cut with the wisdom and the love of a grandfather
and with the infinite joy of a child
just a thin slice of an apple
just a thin slice of life -

Marco Bo