Saturday, September 26th, 2020

Outside my basement window, my landlord is watering plants. Or maybe it’s his son. The sandals, olive-skinned legs, and khaki shorts could belong to either of them. As I look up and out, I see a cluster of fresh dates that I had left on the window sill a week or so ago. I had hoped that they would ripen more quickly in the sun. They haven’t. I reach up and take them down. I’m surprised at what I see. While the dates in the direct sun hadn’t ripened, the ones in their shadow had. Perhaps, rather than light, the dates need darkness. Some of the dates on my kitchen table had ripened, too, but I hadn’t noticed if they’d been in more or less light than those that hadn’t. The ripe dates that haven’t fallen off the branch on their own come off easily. The fruit is so soft that it leaves the seeds behind, still attached to the branch by the stem. The ones that I try are as sweet as those from a week ago. I leave the rest in a loose pile on the kitchen table. I think of stepping outside to check how hot and humid it is out there. I know that it won’t rain. I hear someone sweeping my steps, removing the remnants of other fruit that has splattered down from the trees. I choose to remain invisible. I won’t get outside at all today. In the new lockdown, the Sabbath cafe is closed. I stay in and handle things at home. Tomorrow I should have half a day’s work. I might see and speak to people then.