The Land- part 1
Deep in the anxious nowhere of Los Angeles, an old home stands in solemn opposition to the thousands of fleeting glimpses of a rushed humanity that bombard the busy thoroughfare just beyond it’s front steps. Out on that street there is no longer any memory of the past, it’s been rewritten as a vain attempt at remembering the future. What comes next is all there is, or more accurately, all there will be then, for there is no longer any now. There’s no time for that sort of luxury anymore. Not out there, anyway.
The old home is a different story though. There’s plenty of now to be had here. There’s shade everywhere, as anything that grows out of the ground has been allowed to just keep on growing. A huge tree stands in the yard next to the house. Kids bikes lean against the tree, rusting into permanence at the end of the dirt driveway. You can stand still here and see time pass. The joy of now.
Stand on the porch and wait for a pause in the traffic, so you don’t inhale the future’s fumes, and take a deep breath. Oranges. The past here smells like oranges. Acres of them. As far as you could see in any direction. Grandparents of today were once children here who drank fresh squeezed orange juice because that’s all they had. They laughed and screamed and rode their bikes in every direction as far as they wanted down the dirt roads between the neighboring orchards. On hot summer days, though, this would get old and they’d complain that they were bored. They would wish that something would happen here, and figuring that it never would, they imagined a different life beyond the orange trees.