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{an old way to die} edward nudelman Somewhere along the gray stone road, he died. All of a sudden, under a peeling madrona, fell down first onto knees and then elbows and then then flattened completely on the succulent grass near a clump of over-ripe blackberry bushes. He didn’t know it was a thing called dying or passing away, never imagined as he buckled over that anything adverse or extraordinary was happening, except for the dark dripping blackberries which provided a winy scent he drank up instantaneously, a fruity distillate, over-ripe and syrupy, medicinal, heaped onto a spoon and offered as a final curative, which he tasted by letting it touch the front and then roll back and onto the sides of his tongue. A week later he was discovered in the same position, somewhat hidden by the tall grass that had grown along his outer edges. When he was removed, all present studied the exactness of the outline, which only began to unfold and spread back inward and disappear after a heavy rain and then a week of full sun. |
