238 - bark

ith some effort, Tiara hoisted the bushel of apples off the ground. When she had first attempted the task at age thirteen, it was almost impossible for her. The basket felt full of lead back then. As she grew older and accustomed to the job, things became easier. The apples felt lighter.

Lighter, but never effortlessly light. In time, the feeling of the bushel steadily growing lighter leveled off, and her work stopped feeling easier each day. Tiara wondered how she would do this job her entire life. She had only been at it for five years. If she were fortunate enough to live to an old age, would she be able to move the bushel at all, much less lift and carry it?

She stepped out of the barn, the pile of apples obstructing her vision somewhat, and started down the worn cobblestone path. Her feet knew the way, though she still moved delicately in order to maintain her load's stability. Dropping even one apple presented a real problem, as she had to put the whole basket down, recover the apple, and then hoist it back up.

Tiara still remembered with great pain when she had tripped and emptied out the entire offering of apples. She had only been doing her job for about six months at the time, and her shoe had caught the edge of a stone along the path.

Though she had fallen flat on her face and scraped herself up badly enough that she returned home covered in blood, she felt no pain at that moment. Only fear. Fear that she had lost an apple. She scoured her surroundings, gathering the entire bushel back together as best she could.

To this day, Tiara was not quite certain that she had recovered each and every apple. No disaster had befallen her village, though. The elders never mentioned anything about her not completing her task. She had been lucky. There was no reason to tempt fate, so she took each step very carefully now.

After nearly twenty minutes of carrying the wooden basket of apples down the path, Tiara arrived at the old well. It had run dry long ago, so the visitors to this place were scant, aside from herself. She felt happy here. Not only did arriving here mean that her long daily journey of hauling apples was at its end, but she also appreciated the stillness that inhabited this otherwise abandoned site.

She leaned the bushel of apples upon the ledge of the well, worn smooth from years of use. There was no particular rush to her ritual, but the other chores and obligations that made up her life beckoned. She uttered the blessing which by now had become a mere exercise of rote.

Finally, Tiara tipped the basket toward the well's opening. She watched a stream of apples pour out, plummeting into the blackness below.

The final apple disappeared, eaten up by the chasm. She listened, as she always did, for some sort of sound. Maybe the thud of an apple hitting the bottom of the well, or landing atop an ever-growing pile of apples. Maybe a spirit would thank her. Maybe it would offer her some guidance, or some hope.

Just like every day that had preceded, today the well remained silent.

She lifted the empty basket. It was much lighter now. This part, Tiara was certain, she could do through the end of her days. The spring air filled her lungs as she started back towards the barn at a faster pace than she had come. Her contribution to the world beyond was done, at least for today.