A story about a fresh eaten pear and a memory of a past summer

A story about a fresh eaten pear and a memory of a past summer

This is as short story about one of my passions - diving.


Action / Adventure


Ivanka Hristova (Austria)

A story about a fresh eaten pear and a memory of a past summer

I knew that standing up early was not my thing, but last Saturday I made my mind to do so. I went to the kitchen to boil water for my morning tea, but seeing how the sun glittered on the lake’s surface I grabbed a piece of fruit and went outside to sit by the water.
Water fascinates me with its calmness. Even when enveloped in stillness, the way it reflects the sunlight gives the impression of a living creature, having a soul of its own and at the same time reflecting my own soul. The longer I watch it, the stronger I desire to lose myself in it, to let it envelope me…
Looking down at my hands, I saw that I have taken the last pear from the fruitier. I held it on the tips of my fingers and lift it up to the level of my eyes, so the sun shone right into it and in the background I could still see the lake’s horizon. The sunrays outlined the pear’s shape as a waterdrop, the colours on its skin went through green, orange, yellow and red. While rotating the pear with my fingers I notice the dark-brown bruises and scratches, indicating that it must have fallen. It makes me think, that it is perfectly ripe. Sinking my teeth in it a honey-sweet juice poured into my mouth and touched my tongue. The scent of fresh summer fields reached not only my nose, but also filled the back of my mouth. This first bite transported me to an early-summer morning when I was cycling on a path crossing a land field. The blooming threes on both sides of the road were building up a wall that moved faster with every turn of the pedal, becoming more solid with each mile. I remember how my heart would leap from joy every time when the sea appeared on the horizon. I remember how I would press my bicycle to go faster making the wall of pear threes disappear and the scent of dew on the field flowers would fill my lungs.
Finally, reached the small port I jumped on a boat and sailed with few friends, sharing the same passion, into the open sea. After leaving the port I would be on my usual seat on the nose with my feet hanging on both sides. As we gained speed the waves, that crossed our path, gently hit my feet. At times even when the waves were bigger, the nose of the boat would descent so low that my feet dipped in the sea. An urge, like an instinct for self-preservation, would try making me pull my feed up and tuck them under me, but the naughty part of me supresses it immediately! Sitting there, riding the waves I am privileged with the best view. Nothing stands on my way while viewing the unbroken horizontal line – where sea and sky meet. I could compare it to the freedom of flying! After a while we get to our diving spot then case anchor nearby the rocks and put on the heavy gear.
Second bite from that pear and I am back, descending…
The perfect calmness of my pulse helps me moving lightly between rocks and through caves. My torso stays flat, parallel to the ground. I navigate the depth only with my breath – filling the lungs helps ascent, emptying them helps descend. The foremost rule of never holding my breath I find hard to follow as all the colours and all these beauty of underwater life unfolds in front of my eyes. I barely move my three times longer feet, slowly approaching a small swarm of black-lined white fishes, eating under an overhang rock. The only things that I am able to hear are my own calm breathing, the bubbles coming out from the regulator and the movement of air and water in the body. I slow my pulse further, while approaching the fish, and reduce my breathing to short of stopping while keeping my lungs almost empty, so the bubbles coming out of the regulator got smaller and lesser. Usually bubbles makes us look bigger for the fish, so they would not approach us, but now assured that this new strange creature would do them no harm, they get curious, circling around my head, searching for shelter or food. Very carefully I rotate my body and with a short slow motion of my feet I try to follow my friends without scaring them off.
I have become their protector.
I have become their whale.

Meditating on memories like these, keeps me warm throughout the cold months.

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