I eat the second fig in three bites, standing alone in the humidity on the terrace.
Its skin has begin to split down the sides, green with a little fawn toward the tip. I squeeze it open. A first bite, the soft sweetness is worth the year's wait. The inside creamy white and clear honey, the skin supple. I chew the second piece slowly and swallow fast. On the street below a lorry passes. A cicada in an oak tree.
I take the last bite. Some skin is left. I eat that, too.
Yummy! Figs!
ReplyDeleteThat's a very Haiku sort of ending...
ReplyDeleteYou might enjoy this
http://theunbearablebanishment.blogspot.com/2010/07/o-brooklyn-my-brooklyn-with-apologies.html
oh, pure and wonderful YUM!
ReplyDeleteoh goooooood for you!
ReplyDelete