Everything continues. It is the way.
We start with a substance, spinning around with us at its place in life.
It transitions when it has to,
and if it doesn’t naturally make its own transition,
you can gracefully train it to do so.

The husks that played their role,
sheltering the tender fibers of a luscious fruit,
these modest rinds that lived to protect a flavor that grew and ripened and passed to us—
now coax them to become fodder for another generation.

The sorrowful gash in the skin of a food that looked perfect yesterday,
when you wake up to judge a slice far gone and to sacrifice it for the health of the rest,
give it as tribute to the bacteria that will accept it as good coin.

It is their way. And ours?
Following up on every meal at which we sit—as partner to a tryst, or with a circle of friends,
or shared across a raucous throng of festival-goers,
or just chowed down in glorious self-nurturing—
our way is to lend the fragments of this daily feast
to another Summer, even one whose face we may not witness.

What we lack now, we always wish to have more of.
But no one gets left behind. Next year we will all get together
to see what comes up.

October 23, 2011
Andy Oram
In mem riam Tania Levy