The Blue Sky Blue

Outside whistling, his cheeks puffing, sat the alms man, ‘…why is there nothing rather than something…?’ he asked. ‘…why isn’t the sky the sea and the sea the sky…?’ Curling his lips into a sow’s ear, his mouth slackening, he whistled, shooshooshoooew. Not a soul heard, not a measly soul. Autumn apples sang from their gallows, pick me, I am the best apple in the whole orchard. The day began as it always did, full of mystery and singing apples. Rattling up the sideways came a tinker, his smithy cart jingling. His tinker’s beard ruffling in the midmorning breeze, the tinker said ‘…Make way, make way for the image of God…’. I am the best apple in the whole orchard, shooshooshoooew. Make way make way, shooshooshoooew, the tinker’s cart is on the way, shooshooshoooewshooshooshoooew, ‘…Make way, make way for the image of God…’. The man in the hat, eyeing the blue sky blue, said ‘…why is the blue sky blue and not orange...?’ The Stellenbosch sisters, kibbling, took in the noontime sun, the eldest sister swatting bluebottles from the kip of her face. ‘…another day after day…’ said the man in the hat, ‘…and with no end in sight…’.