Ripe Memories
Rising early has some advantages. If the rising happens right at the ensuing gray of first morning light the advantage is there are not the engulfing mosquitoes on the wing. I walk out into the yard and I can already smell the musty fragrance of ripening and occasional rotting fruit. A year has passed and once again I am graced with a mega crop of figs. The first few are just picked from the branches and eaten with sloppy indulgence. The birds are stirring giving way to chortles and clicks as if to ward off my presence under the branches where I stand reaching up grasping the most perfect rose-colored orbs.
The rains from last evening still cling to the large leaves and as I move the branches aside in my searching I am showered with hundreds of drops of water. These trees tower above the second story windows leaving many of the ripened fruit unreachable. The birds and I make an agreement, I will not climb the branches if they agree to leave the lower ones for me. I filled a large bowl with fruit leaving the rest for tomorrow’s gather. Now let us see if the glass jelly jars purchased last year will be filled with the harvest and memories of my childhood re-visited.