Our rooster’s familiar crow pulled me from my sleep. I buried my tiny limbs under the thick duvet my grandmother had sewn years ago. The sheep wool she stuffed inside provided my cold, languid body with the gentle warmth of a mid-July sunset. The heavy blanket pressed me down to a bumpy handmade mattress that rests on a bed made of a thousand springs. I closed my eyes to extend the night for just a little longer. I knew it couldn’t be for too long.
The church bell is a few metres from my grandparent’s village home. Soon a man would go up to the roof and attach himself to a rope that hangs from the giant, metal bell. His body would pull the rope down before flying up and crashing down again, each movement marked by a piercing melody that echoed through the village. The ringing in my ears lingered, reminding me of the time the bullet fired as my grandfather pulled the trigger, aiming at the sky, reducing a helpless bird to its unfortunate fate: lunch.
I opened one side of the window. It made a high-pitched squeak as I slowly turned the rusty metal handle. I glanced at the man on the rooftop; he was greeting the neighbours as they walked down the slanted roads. My eyes wandered across the village, looking for its peak, but the closest mountain I could see was a million miles away. A million? My young mind marveled at the thought.
I put on a light jacket and walked to the balcony that connected my bedroom to the rest of the wooden house. Walking onto that roofless enclosure, I was surrounded by nothing but endless green; the world felt so big, and I felt so small. I couldn’t tear my eyes from nature as I moved from room to room. Its vastness captivated me with every step.
That’s how the valley’s architecture is built. You can’t ignore nature’s presence. Nature is your home; your grape-leaves-roof shielded home. The only shadows are those of the mountains and your own. I looked up the sky. The sun blinked with a slow, calming rhythm; in a sea of cotton candy clouds that merged into mystical shapes. I walked down the stairs. My aunts were in the kitchen boiling Turkish coffee and getting ready for a long day in the apple field. ‘Can I join you?’ I asked. ‘You need to hurry. We’re leaving soon,’ my aunt replied.
I ran up to my room and dressed in clothes that were meant to get muddy. ‘I wonder what Heidi would do in an apple field, ‘ I said as I looked in the mirror. I stepped outside, following my aunts’ lead. Walking by the tilted road, I collected wild berries in a small basket. The red ones are citrusy; the black ones are sweet. I chose the red ones. I always chose citrusy. Small red berries, green ripe grapes, a sliced lemon with salt. It’s an acquired taste. I noticed a frog in a puddle, a tiny, scaly lizard, and a line of little brown ants. I plucked a flower whose petals were filled with a gluey substance. I peeled a few of the petals to create a pair of earrings and a bracelet.
We passed by tens of apple fields, each the main source of income for one of the valley’s families. Like ours, they were dotted with walnut and olive trees to create another good to bring to market. When we arrived, my cousin yelled my name from afar. With unparalleled excitement, I ran through the trees to unite with my best friend. The two of us climbed a walnut tree, so high up, to collect the green walnuts that no other kid had been able to reach.
Grabbing a stone, I broke the green exterior that left my hands stained with a copper-black tint that only began to fade when my skin could renew itself. The walnut seeds were unripe. They had a faint beige pigment, a chewy texture, and a mellow sweet taste. They were held so tightly inside of their wooden shell that we would have to scoop them out bit by bit, and the walnut seeds would crumble. Our persistent, yet unsuccessful efforts left me hungry and tired. When my uncle drove me home in his pickup truck, I sat between the apple boxes and let the cooling breeze soothe my sunburnt skin. When we arrived, my grandmother met us with a warm, homecooked meal of warak enab. I devoured my plate in a matter of seconds. Then I took a lukewarm shower and dragged a floor mattress up to the rooftop, waiting for another sunset with childish anticipation. Reds, purples, yellows, and blues mixed and softened, then melted beneath the mountains. A breeze of serenity washed over the village.
I carefully descended the rickety wooden ladder, looking around to make sure no one saw me. I’d be in big trouble if they did. I risked my life for a view; a view that would rest in my memory, like a cooped-up piece of home.
Later, I went down the street, to the cemented echoey hall where my village friends would gather and play. That night, they had brought wooden sticks and gasoline. When I arrived, they lit a fire to grill corn kernels and potatoes. I sat on a piece of cardboard, mesmerized by the growing flames. I poked my kernel onto a stick and held it near the fire to cook. I ate the veggies and helped my friends clean up the space. Then, we walked uphill and lied down, close by the giant bell; I gazed into an infinite sky filled with particles, gleaming then dimming like fine glitter. I sank into the blue. I sank into myself.
pale blue fragments 