Honeybelle

On a southeast corner of a small sidestreet intersecting Military Trail in Delray Beach, Florida, there’s a farm stand that sells honeybelle oranges for fifty cents a piece. After pushing two beg buttons and crossing a sea of motor vehicle traffic, I buy one each day while Traveling at the Speed of Bike (more than 150 miles so far, for an Uber savings of $280) home from my 91-year-old father-in-law’s rehab or dialysis or doctor location. I peel it right there, Della Ray leaned up against a pole or a wall, and let the sweet juice drip down my arm. (Yesterday I brought one home for my brother-in-law.)

I’m on Day 10 here now. The Senate impeachment hearings, more school shootings, the nearby Super Bowl, and a divisive State of the Union address have all dominated the news. But during that time, I have helped save a man’s life, sat in meditation with sea birds and iguanas and an endangered gopher tortoise, had the glory and honor of witnessing the miracle of sunrises, and spent a great deal of time thinking about Ram Dass’ words that we’re all just walking each other home.

And so today, again, I will stop and buy a honeybelle. I will look a hardworking woman in the eye and hand her two quarters and she will thank me and we will wish each other a nice day and our hearts will touch. And somehow, in the simple stillness of that next moment when I peel and savor God’s creation, all will be well.