At first glance, the cantaloupe looks round and light grayish-tan, with a hint of green. From afar it looks round and plain, about the size of a peewee soccer ball. On approach, the circular shape is less perfect with subtle dents and bumps all around. Surrounding the sphere shaped fruit are light tan lines like a dense city map with all the streets intertwining and curving around without any significant pattern, not geometric like gridlines. On the surface, there are small matchbook sized patches color the skin, some more yellow and other patches that are darker green. A particular indention looks like the fruit might have laid on a rock on the ground while it was growing. One end, where the flower might have once been, is the palest of yellow circles. On the opposite edge, the stubby vestige of a stem remains. This dried up nub is the brown and shriveled, slightly indented from the rest of the globe. Surrounding the stem is a dark circle of hunter green.
Picking it up from the counter, the weight of this globular object seems significantly heavier than it looks, like a mini bowling ball. Despite the volume, it feels that the weight is not solid which is proven by the hollow sound the fruit makes when tapped, like patting a child on the head. The delineated lines feel like webbing and give the fruit a rough feel, but it’s not an uncomfortable roughness. The experience is somewhere in between a prickly cactus and a furry peach.
At this point my mind starts to wander. Should I cut it open now or wait? Should I take a break? I look outside at the fat flakes of snow coming down outside and remind myself to get back to the task at hand. There is no resentment or anger. I look again at this object I have assigned myself to detail. When I am at a loss as to how to describe something in particular my mind wandering happens more frequently. I continue to focus my attention back to the cantaloupe as soon as I realize I’ve been...
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