Gnomes and Fruit

I at first just noticed a bit of swirling dust and wondered at the activity that would be causing such a cloud, for there was only a slight breeze.  It was that interest that pulled me closer, enough to see the miniature gnomes that bustled about on the meadow floor.  Then I, not having anywhere of great importance to be, or anything of utmost importance to do, decided to stay and observe this bit of life that I had not known before.

I studied first the gnomes themselves, not what they were doing but how they were.  At first it appeared that some were more aged and frail, and others young and spry.  However, and I cannot identify exactly how, it soon became apparent that none were smaller or younger than any other, it was as if they existed eternal to time at varying stages of physical well being.  This puzzled me, but I did not dwell on the idea as their appearance became of particular interest to me.  Every one of them had a beard, a pointed cone hat and a tunic.  Each one had, what I can only call, “noticeably full” cheeks and a rotund nose.   My interest, though, settled not on their similarities, but their differences.  Many of the tunics seemed dull and grayish as if made from the same piece of old dirty muslin.  I noticed more than a few gnomes were rubbing dust into there tunics as a sort of starch to press out the wrinkles.  I saw one spit angrily on the ground and continue to rub his tunic vigorously with the mud it created, he stopped to look at his red raw hands, huffed and continued to rub.  His tunic was particularly crisp void of any wrinkles but also particularly drab.

The physical countenance of the gnomes coincided with the color of their clothing.  Those with gray tunics seemed also to have a pale, sickly looking flesh tone.  Some of them were bothered by this, as they were of wrinkled tunics.  I watched with great wonder as several gnomes would scoop up a handful of dust and rub their cheeks and nose, the abrasion produced redness, which I suppose they thought more presentable than their previous grayish pallor.  The remedy, however, did not last and would have to be repeated often.  The beards of these self preoccupied gnomes did little to add to their appearance, the tough wiry hair seemed to dart about haphazardly, almost fierce in its chaos.  Again the dust seemed to be the elixir as the gnomes tried to soften their hair with the application of dust, the result was a dirty, loose mass.

I felt some sorrow for these little frustrated beings especially as I took time to notice their eyes, they were full of worry and fear, and there seemed to me no sparkle of contentment.  Even when several gray clothed gnomes would get together and find some sort of humor the laughter looked superficial and fleeting, their eyes betrayed the existence of deep concern.

Within my field of view the vast majority of gnomes were as I previously described, however several were much different.  A small number of gnomes among the many grey clothed ones were wearing bright clothing, some brighter than others, but all noticeably more vibrant than any of the gray clothing.  These bright tunics also had intricate designs woven into them.  I found the designs very pleasing to the eye and spent several moments just admiring the colorful threadwork.  Most of the tunics were clean, no dust, looking closely one could see that there were wrinkles, but they seemed of no consequence, hidden within the designs of the fabric.  Not only were these tunics clean, so were the gnomes within them.  Their faces were bright and full of healthy color, their beards were clean, white and soft, almost cuddly.  I took time to notice their eyes, and though I was not surprised by what I found, they brought a smile to my face.  The eyes were clear and sparkled with every glint of light, they were overflowing with joy and bursting with life.  I did, however, notice something else in these eyes surrounded by rosy cheeks and smiling lips were two windows into compassion.  I could see in the few clean gnomes a yearning for those garbed in gray.

The colorful gnomes were trying to communicate with the gray gnomes, however they were met with much resistance.  Many were too busy pressing their tunics, others too busy rubbing their faces and still others were tending to their beards.  I wondered if they even noticed how clean and handsome the colorful gnomes were, maybe their idea of handsome had become distorted.  Several of the colorful gnomes were beckoning the gray gnomes to follow them, and some did.  I looked to see where they may be headed and noticed off to the side, what must be an hour or so brisk walk for the gnomes, was a river.  There were many more clean and colorful gnomes by the river and I concluded rather easily that the river must be their source of cleanliness.  While there were many colorful gnomes at the river, there was no shortage of gray gnomes, some were near the banks continuing to tend to their hygiene, in their peculiar way.  Others had fashioned chairs and sat near the river as if to benefit without entering.  A few, though, turned and ran back to where there were fewer colorful gnomes.

My attention was then arrested by some goings on at the riverbank.  A clean gnome was compelling a gray gnome to enter the water.  I could not understand what they were saying and am not sure they were even communicating with words, but the clean gnome stepped in and pleaded with the gray gnome, showing him the white fluffy beard and clean face.  The gray gnome resisted, he appeared worried about his mud caked cloak and dirt filled beard, as if all his hard work would count for naught.  I was struck with a wave of emotion that I am not sure how to describe, I was baffled by his choice for dirt and sorrowful that he wanted something so inferior to what was being offered, enraged even that he would not just give it a try.  All the emotion I felt seemed to pale in comparison to the compassion the filled the eyes of the colorful gnome now waist deep in the water.  The gray gnome turned to walk away, the colorful gnome followed, as he stepped up onto the bank dirt began to collect on his feet.  He stopped the gray gnome and once again began to implore him to enter the water, the colorful gnome embraced the gray gnome who looked almost dead in contrast.  As the embrace ended I noticed that the some of the dirt from the gray gnome was now on the colorful gnome.  I think the obvious contrast of the dirt smudged on the bright tunic, along with the compassion that lived in the eyes of the colorful gnome changed the mind of the gray gnome who promptly turned and threw himself into the water followed closely by the colorful gnome.  I watched intently as the gray gnome winced the water rushing by and into all the dusty abrasions covering his body, the water around him turned brown momentarily, but was soon washed down the river replaced with clear crisp rushing water.  The colorful gnome beckoned the gray gnome deeper into the current and in fear, mingled with newfound joy, he followed.  Soon he had little control of his movements but was carried to and fro with the swirling current.  After a long while in the clear flowing river they were headed back out to the dust world, the previously gray gnome now had clean clothes and while the color of his tunic was obvious it had not the vibrancy of his companions, his beard was clean of dirt, not yet appearing soft and his face began to take on true color as the abrasions began to heal.  The starkest change however was his eyes, they were as clear and full of life as any colorful gnome, they sparkled with every move and exploded with energetic joy.  I felt my eyes begin to well with tears of joy, what a change, how wonderful must that water be?  I could not help but wonder why so many gray gnomes saw it with such fear.  I think it is the dust, the false hope, the fake existence affected by the dust.

My gaze followed this newly clean gnome as he strolled off into the crowd of gray gnomes motioning wildly trying to show them the change in himself.  Many gnomes looked in disdain, some colorful gnomes expected him to stay by the river and only talk to other colorful gnomes, the gray gnomes looked at him with disgust.  They must have a skewed view of what is good, for they appeared to find their own gray clothing and raw skin more attractive than his new healthy appearance.  My heart slouched in my chest as I looked upon the other gnomes, saddened that so many colorful gnomes had forgotten where they had come from and ignored those that really needed their help, and frustrated that the dust had not only permeated the clothing of the gray gnomes but their minds as well.   My heart did not stay long in its sadness, but was lifted by the energy with which this new colorful gnome pleaded with the gray gnomes, there is hope.

I found for myself a fallen log on which to sit for I realized that the intricate culture of the gnomes, with which I was now very interested, could be a very long study.  Presently I noticed yet another facet of the dust world.  I am not sure that what I was seeing had any parallel in the world with which I am familiar, what I saw was like fruit.  Yet not fruit one would pile up to paint a still-life, the fruit was capable of its own motion, not fast motion and on the ground it appeared cumbersome.  The fruit, as I will call it, that I noticed first was companioned with a gnome.  It was not an especially appealing site and the gnome it was with was quite gray and sunken himself.  The fruit was covered with a haze, like a badly tarnished silver spoon.  The skin appeared to need a heavy polishing, and the fruit was trying; rubbing itself vigorously with the dust.  However, much like a badly tarnished silver spoon polished with a common kerchief the haze did not budge.  Just as the gnomes, the fruit was left frustrated and battered, but not knowing exactly how to truly polish herself, she continued.  This fruit also appeared somewhat shriveled as though the flesh beneath the skin was sunken or rotting.

There were, just as with the gnomes, some beautiful fruit, firm and vibrant with colorful skin that sparkled like a well cut diamond.  These fruit were not on the ground, each one I saw that was beautiful was supported by a gnome.  I could not help but marvel as each beautiful fruit matched perfectly the gnome by which it was carried, the colors of the skin displayed a pattern that was different but very complimentary to the design of the tunic.  The practicality was apparent in that the fruit seemed of little burden but was able to move about the ground so much better while being supported by the gnome.  As my attention became consumed by the fruit I saw a tree through the dusty air.  The tree was very large in comparison to the gnomes and the fruit.   I could see on every branch fruit that moved with great dexterity, as much as the gnomes were comfortable walking, the fruit were comfortable gliding among the branches of this tree.  Many gnomes were gathered at the bottom of the tree gazing up into the tree full of fruit, much of the fruit they saw was squalid, yet the gray gnomes in particular seemed drawn to the fruit no matter the condition.  Some of the fruit had left the tree on their own and seemed to be pursuing the gnomes, they were drawn to each other in a way that can only be felt, not explained.

The placement of the fruit on the tree seemed to coincide with the health of the fruit’s skin, the bottom of the tree where she could be most close to the gnomes was hidden from the sun and surrounded by the dust.  In contrast the top of the tree was above the dust and flooded with sunlight.   I had not noticed before on account of the surrounding dust, but there was sun that beat constantly upon the world.  At the top of the tree were many beautiful fruits basking in the sunlight, each were firm and gleamed as they reflected the brightness.  The sun appeared to nourish them just as the river nourished the gnomes, healing the bruises making full and sweet what had previously appeared sunken and rotten.  The dust. I was struck with the thought, the dust destroyed what this world was created to be, without dust the tunics would never be dirty and the fruit would all get sun at any part of the tree.  A tear swelled and slid down my cheek, this dust that the gray gnomes and the wrinkled fruit held so dear was the source of their ugliness.

I saw a clean colorful gnome gazing into the dust realizing that there must be some source that provided the light in which they moved about; a light that is continuously distorted by the ever present cloud.  At that moment there formed in the cloud a window up into the sky, and I watched as the gnome gazed upon the top of the tree seeing a reflection of the sun on the glimmering skin of a beautiful piece of fruit.  I was enthralled as the gnome darted for the base of the tree, he began to climb, or more accurately flail in a way that made small progress to scale the tree.  Gnomes do not have long arms and legs that climb well, they are short and stubby and awkward when off the ground.  He climbed fervently, and I began to see that he was not alone, there were others laboring to climb the tree.  Some were cut and bleeding some were on the way down empty handed, some climbed faster than others.  A small few were being led down the tree by a graceful piece of fruit.  The colorful gnome that had just started up the tree was struggling, but making progress and with much effort came to the top of the tree, for the first time feeling and seeing the bright source of light.

After a brief enjoyment of the sun the colorful gnome remember his mission, he saw the fruit that was his goal, but she basked in the sun out on a limb.  He stopped and thought, I imagine he did not want to turn back having to someday climb the tree again as others had, nor do I imagine that he liked the idea of descending the tree without a piece of fruit to guide him.  As he sat in the sun the cuts and bruises gained from the climb seemed to melt away, only by what I assume was the affect of the sun.  While I noticed that other gnomes looking and reaching for fruit at the top, the one gnome in which I took interest decided to take the risk.  The limb bowed wildly as he made his way toward the end where this gleaming fruit hung.  I was worried for the gnome as the fruit seemed too far out to reach safely, however the fruit began to move closer toward the out of place land dweller.  Excitement grew in his face while the fruit seemed to beam even more brightly.  The two spent some time just soaking in the bright sun above the dust.  The gnome then urged the fruit to follow him down the tree, she seemed to agree but actually led the gnome, showing him the skills of tree climbing, her graceful movements gliding her from branch to branch, his stubby legs beginning to learn the art.

Once on the ground the gnome confidently and lovingly supported the fruit as they made there way to the water.  This water that filled his life he wanted to share so that it may fill hers.  To the bank of the river they both came, he slid into the water, she clumsily followed.  Her skill in swimming was similar to his skill at climbing.  He showed her how to float and let the water flow over her and feel its life giving properties.  I perceived that as he sat in the sun at the top of the tree and she bobbed about in the clear water they become more of a matched pair.  She continued to show him how to climb the tree and bask in the warm sun, he brought her to the water regularly to fill her with joy and life.  His tunic continued to become more vibrant and her skin shone more and more with deep color every day.  They grew more breathtaking together and, as one, were a centerpiece worthy of a dust free world.