there were blue jays alarming and peaches in the sun. it was the time after death when life offers itself to be lived anew. i am not famous in the kitchen. there are meals i've never made. but in honor of life and the great need to soar, i peeled the peaches and baked a pie. my first.
it was a meditation of sorts, the peeling and the stickiness and the reading 3 recipes to conjure a filling i thought to be right. it was the 4th recipe, read after the pie was in the oven, that warned of not letting the peaches sit before pouring into the shell. i had let them sit.
the dough, store bought, was too small for the dish, guaranteeing an unflattering crimp. it took longer to bake than seemed reasonable. when it had cooled by the window and the knife slit its skin, the smell was a cinnamoned perfume of late summer. and it was a swamp.
i had 2 hearty slices of wet peaches and pie. it was astoundingly delicious, but fit for no one but me. the remaining three quarters i threw away, craving and curiosity satisfied.
it was the time after death; the time for newness and wet peaches and soaring back into life.