From The Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessy, by Rachel Joyce –
"It's time to concentrate your energy on other things. Like this lovely peach.
. . . I stroked the velvety red blush of its skin. I felt the give of its flesh as I pressed it with my fingertips. I traced the well-defined crease. The dimple at its center where once the fruit was attached to a stem, a tree, and grew there. This may sound strange, but I forgot briefly that you could eat a peach as well as touch it. Sister Mary Inconnu lifted the fruit to my nose, and the smell was so honey-sweet my nostrils began to zing.
. . . I watched everything. The glint of the light on the blade, the nick in the flesh as the knife pierced it, the sudden overspill of sticky amber juice down her fingers and then onto the plate. After she had eased the knife once round, she put it down and held the peach between her two hands in order to prize it open. She twisted the top half away from for the lower and pulled her hands apart so that the peach emerged in two glistening halves, one bearing the stone like a wet nut, the other showing a soft naked bed with pulpy strings. My mouth began to flood.
. . . I felt happier than if I’d grown wings and learned to fly. We ate a piece and then another. We were the peach and the peach was us and there was nothing more."
I read the chapter over and over again, as a meditation of sorts. I long to eat a peach in this way, so deeply immersed in the senses, with such mindfulness. Life is too short to be so busy, too short for near constant rushing and worrying, too precious to neglect the sweetness of the peach.