THE BREAD LOAF JOURNAL
Westtown, PA MARVIN J. AGUILAR | CALIFORNIA Every disposition of the ground was good; and she looked on the whole scene, the river, the trees scattered on its banks, and the winding of the valley, as far as she could trace it, with delight. (from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice) I walk outside: Swallows and robins call out to each other, the cicadas chirping endlessly the prelude to a pastoral symphony. Dry bristly grass brushes against my bare legs the late afternoon summer whispers through the trees and shrubbery a carved trail, a sign someone has been here. The sun kisses parts of my exposed body it shares its radiance with me caringly the cicadas shift their pitch more loudly. Queen Anne’s lace calls me—Touch me. I gently caress the flat tops, acknowledging each white cluster. My shadow impedes on the flora surrounding me. I return to the trail, looking, discovering raspberries, a fiery red, dissolve between my fingers, a soft pleasure waiting to be eaten. I stop. An ant jumps onto my fingers, an unwanted invitation. I guide it back to the land. Something wraps itself around my left foot. This area is consumed by weeds. The crackling calls of dried leaves on the ground. The trail has taken a sudden shift. Endless grounds of withered wheat. I am frightened. The symphony has reached a melancholic moment. I cannot bear it. My pace quickens. A large tree nearby yells for me to seek its haven of long, leafy branches the summer winds whirl beyond the shrubs a field of rolling hills.
20 | VOLUME VIII
