Organic.

Farmers’ markets where sturdy hands and chapped smiles greet you like an old friend.  Little tubes of grainy lip balm fitted in bee-covered labels that sit atop illuminated counters.  Supermarkets with olive bars attended by cashiers with nose rings.  All of these things, highly prized and favored in my eyes, have a few traits in common.  Besides being utterly pretentious, they were immediately deemed organic in my mind.

Organic means safe, wholesome, worthy.  I didn’t realize a perpetually disheveled boy would soon win the title of organic, and also favorite, for himself.  Neither safe nor wholesome, entirely too pretentious, and completely worthy describe the victor.  To say the least, the race has been wildly intriguing.  To ask the runner’s perspective?  “It happened organically.”

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Organic.

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