Niko’s Eye

Chapter 78.

Belvia.

Under the sunrise, the apples glowed more rosy than they do in the dayshine. The branches of each tree spread out as if so proud of the bounty they brought and sweetness given within each one. It was a party of colours, of chaos and order, of a beauty that sprung from simple seeds blessed with mud and rain.

There is nothing mathematical about the growth of my apple trees, or at least I challenge anyone to prove otherwise. The boughs twist like a bunch of pipe-cleaners after a pre-K class has been at them. True, they seek the light in their upturned wine glass shape, but in their own chaotic way. Were it not for pruning they would be more unruly still with small off shoots determined to grow fruits they could not support. They’d look more like my bed-head in the mornings than trees. Even with my pruning the orchard is all the more beautiful for its wildness, though I thank God daily they must stay in the neat rows in which they were planted.

The orchard at the end of the lane is nothing like the big commercial operations. The old boy who lives there plants only heirloom varieties. Their skins are works of art, perfect blends of red, green and yellow in patterns my hand could never paint. But better than that, they aren’t shiny. Their sizes are as uneven as beach pebbles and you can’t predict the flavour unless you know the variety. They have brown spots and the occasional worm – they’re real apples. They don’t shine since they aren’t coated with wax, and in their dullness I feel safe enough to take a bite. No chemicals, no trucking between states, just fruit right off the tree.

Soft sky above, soles upon smooth stones and clouds caressed with reflected light. Lacy waves in steady rhythm echo my heart. A breeze brings a long awaited relief to my bones. All whilst birds arc above, playful upon swirling updrafts.

God’s messenger was called on the explain disease and viruses, if God is real why do we have such things? The messenger looked back, her expression grim. "I’ve read before statements such as ’If God is omnipotent He is malevolent and if He is not, then He is not God.’ Well, here’s the thing, God is not omnipotent, you’ve all been asking for (been lead to expect) too much for a very long time. I read that statement as akin to saying ’If my Dad isn’t the strongest man in the universe, he isn’t my Dad!’ Grow up."

"God does His best every second of every day to bring about peace, love, heaven on earth, but He’s stretched to the limit trying to care for billions of people and the rest of the planet. He isn’t limitless, but He is God and He loves every single one of you unconditionally. He is beauty beyond measure, He is pure love, He is amazing and I love Him. He is the One True God, but that doesn’t mean He is the only player in town. He will love you no matter what, but He’s asking for your help. Without you choosing the side that is Love - not fear, hate, vanity, greed, sloth, envy - the world will become more hellish. He won’t ever go, but He’ll be stretched so thin that eventually He won’t be able to reach you anymore. He has faith in humanity, every single one of us, as individuals, He seeks a personal bond with you that is Love. So with no threat of hell, with no promise of everlasting life, will you be His hands and feet? Will you work for Love? Because He needs you to choose to be kind and loving. He needs you to help Him save His Earth and humanity."

Aisha.

Back home I don’t have an accent. In the hills the way I talk is as common as the coarse grey shingle we cover the dirt roads with, but in the city it marks me as an outsider. With clean clothes and washed hair I look just like they do - the same dark eyes and honeyed skin. They ignore me until I must speak, then I watch their eyes harden as they try to drop the trade negotiation and move on to someone with more money. They’re the ones with an accent. Where my voice rolls they bark. Where my inflections rise at the end of a sentence, theirs are flat. They think my speech is a sign of both lower intelligence and rudeness though it is neither. All these fine folks came from the country just a generation or two ago, they just like to forget that part.

Her face shone in the watery sunlight. It burst in beams through the almost complete cloud layer above to cast transitory spotlights. Her features were typical of her kin in the district across the ocean channel but here they marked her out as a stranger. Her dark features, considered beautiful back home, were alarming to these creatures who had lived in the colder northern climes for so long that their skin now matched the snow. Their eyes were smaller than hers and the mouths meaner, thinner lipped and often elongated. But they had the clothing she needed to get into the mountains, to visit the fabled spring, and so she ventured into a store to make the purchases, consciously bringing forth the charm that came to her without trying back home.

I have always felt as if I were the weed of this garden, yet the bees and nature do love them so. We grow bold and strong, often where least expected and apparently without any golden invitation. They can’t see what weeds are until they bloom, so little attention does our development garner. Yet our fragrance is as aromatic and our nectar as sweet as any other. We bring that creative richness, that smirk of a smile when at last our vibrant petals show, the gifts we have to offer received with gratitude.

Belvia.

The light as gone but there is no mistaking where we are. Through the moonless night comes the rhythmic pounding of the waves and always the salty air moving gently over our skin, flicking the tiniest grains of sand into our semi-closed eyes.

A cool draught of air whips over the waves, bringing a taste of the ocean with it. It is the unseen part of the shoreline that conjures more memories than the pebbles or the rotting posts of the old pier. It howls in a low whistle, tossing my hair every bit as roughly as the ocean at my feet. It is the feel and taste of home.

The ocean breeze is enough to blow errant strands of hair back toward the road behind, but not sufficient to bring the keen bite of winter wind. Yet the sand is so cold underfoot that this will be my last barefoot walk of the season, next time will be in boots and woollen socks.

This autumn day has my sprits soaring beyond the colourful boughs above. The brilliant shafts of sunlight caress the carpet of reds and golds before me, laid out like a carpet for a royal. Each breath of the fresh air fills me a sense of life that almost makes me want to shout out loud, just to hear my voice echo amidst the trees - like a brave warrior of old. I’ve lived here so long that these rough-barked beauties are like loyal friends. I would hug them if there weren’t so many of the neighbours about, sweeping leaves and walking their dogs. The dogs look so happy, like furry embodiments of smiles. They’re so alive in the sunshine that I just want to run my hands through their fur while their tails wag in excitement. But I have a great deal to get done today, and if I work hard I’ll get it all done and still have enough time left over for a movie and pizza with the girls.

Open ended questions regarding past pains and traumas set off negative cascades of brain chemistry that harm me. Conversely, open ended questions about the beauty of nature or future hopes and dreams set off positive cascades of brain chemistry that help the natural healing process. I can feel these effects happening as the questions are asked, either a suppressive or elevating force in the folds of my neurological tissues.

Open ended questions regarding past pains and traumas set off negative cascades of brain chemistry that harm me. Conversely, open ended questions about the beauty of nature or future hopes and dreams set off positive cascades of brain chemistry that help the natural healing process. I can feel these effects happening as the questions are asked, either a suppressive or elevating force in the folds of my neurological tissues.

Open ended questions regarding past pains and traumas set off negative cascades of brain chemistry that harm me. Conversely, open ended questions about the beauty of nature or future hopes and dreams set off positive cascades of brain chemistry that help the natural healing process. I can feel these effects happening as the questions are asked, either a suppressive or elevating force in the folds of my neurological tissues.