Cutting Melon

More at one with the knife, no longer tentative in how I cut through the flesh, I've grown to welcome the mornings that I cut melon. I take that round of juiciness, scoop the seeds out of the center; juices trail down my hands, the aroma rises in sweet explosion, I cut it down to manageable slices. When my slices have been cut, I take the knife, hold each slice tenderly in my palm, cut the melon flesh away in two motions: first slice–toward the center; turn, second slice toward the center, release. Chop to size.

As I was slicing through the melon, I thought of how my grandfather would slice an apple at the table, or rather skin an apple. He would end up with one perfect peel all in one piece. I liked watching him manuver the knife carefully and gracefully around that apple. He had time. No rushes. No other distractions. Just him, the apple, smiles, whiskers–and his granddaughter watching intently–part of the moment.

As I finished up with the melon, I was also breathing deeply and intentionally, as I am now. I could tell that the day was going to be filled with bustle. I needed more calm. I selected a CD that I usually play when I need to relax even more, to take my energy down a notch. And so I breathe. The music plays. I hear a chime in the distance that causes me to feel the stillness within; the instruments lull me toward a balanced day. I relax. I breathe...