on air

In Tzfat the City of Air a heat wave hit us as heavy as the chosen people’s tone, we wove through the north steadily, chewing mint to cool us down, shedding layers like preconceptions.  A long red dress to hug the knees, the length of our limbs sprinkled by the salt in thin air. I held a bag weighted down with figs- it was too hot to eat anything that weekend but the promise of something so fresh hanging from my wrist kept me climbing up the holy city’s endless sweeping staircases. Each ascent a story and a battle and an intention well examined. In heat like this; like a handicap, a curse and a cloak; every movement is a meditation.

Winding through alleyways we found ourselves resting in ancient doorways, plucking olives from a thousand year old tree. Following the long and sure step of my sister, squeezing lemon in our hair to lighten in the sun.

When I think of this summer I will think of the week we spent in the heat of the north of this fertile country, old notions weighting me down at the wrist; a bag full of the fruits we will never eat. Just beyond the palm all the things we will never reach for in unison. The three of us together thinking maybe this will last forever and wondering what would happen when it didn’t.