We explore both hemispheres in this Magpie Tale
May is the month in which winter’s deceptions must be reconciled.
The sheltering fog has been burned off to reveal skies of cloudless cobalt cruelty.
The public presentation of self must be rethought. Delusions and denials are
more difficult to harbor, their corsets itching and causing rashes as burgeoning
armies of beetles and dragonflies produce more young and seem to be providing
judgmental witness as the bruised fruit goes soft much faster in these warmer
afternoons. The evening’s sun reflected in the large windows of the cottages
on the hill across the valley peer far away, knowing that Montevideo woolens
and mittens are being sold as the autumn of the Southern Cone drifts toward
the chills of July. The field guide of the soul struggles to find the other
hemisphere of the self that is a mirror of the public presentation — the display of
summer knows that the other half is experiencing winter at the same time, and
eventually these roles will be reversed, over and over. No, we do have
bananas today. And kumquats and bitter melons and prickly pears. The
picking of fruit is not as simple a task as you have been led to believe.
The decisions made link us so fully, the Chilean grapes glistening
under artificial light in Connecticut’s darkest December hour
embody the deception’s finest feat. The public presentation that denies the
nature of the season and the fruit that crossed the equator for our pleasure.