The versatile, edible almond–taken for granted–roasted, salted, packed into tins. They wait, unbreathing. They see the intricacies of the rigid universe–the spheres and hues and flocking birds–from their sealed vantage point. They take it higher, to philosophy, faith and free will. They struggle to imagine how their brethren must feel out in the air, mobile and frolicking.

Then the time comes–they’re sold from the shelf and taken to a suburban single-family home. A mother’s hand blends them with other trail mix elements–raisins, pretzels, seeds and chocolate bits, all gasping freedom for those sweet few seconds. Then they’re sealed in a tupperware and relegated to the pantry.

United in their unrelenting tender curiosity, the diverse bunch engages in a forum covering ideal existence–the tupperware tips them into snack bags as they reminisce over the life they lived with their snack-based kindred souls.

The final frontier awaits them now, the mystery of the brown paper bag.

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