The Grapevine

 
By Rhea H. Boyden
The grapevine has been harvested of its succulent fruit. One can draw a sweet sip of wine to ones lips while pondering lofty art. Or one can sip on water as Schopenhauer instructed, and try and see the truth. She tries to decipher the bright colours, to glean meaning from the soft strokes, but she cannot. Art’s salvation is not present today as she had hoped. In desperation she flees the bright and colourful place that used to bring her so much peace. Where to go? Where to run to? She does not know.  She rides the train, forever, knowing suddenly that she is alone and terrified. And then she sees the child’s art, the simple drawing that tells the truth. She eats the grapes, both red and green, and knows that she is safe at last, in the company of those who speak the truth to her, even if she does not want to hear it.