Here is the poem I wrote for the writer's group.
Too often I see a plum as a lemon
though I love lemons,
the antibiotic juice, the color,
the shape in my hand.
When I learn that someone else desires
that which I desire
my laissez-faire attitude dissolves.
I salivate, taste the sweetness
of the plum, long for its juice and
Still wary, my tongue holds back the pit.
Then, my trimmed nails sharpen into claws,
my teeth gnaw the pit which I spit into my hand
ready to plant in the soil.
Is this greed?
Does it matter who wins the plum?
Does it matter what catalyst to action at last
Loved being on the Cape. Didn't buy a house. Had a fun time with D. and K. walking the beaches, preparing for a dinner party, zipping around the back roads in a Masda Miata with the top down.
So many blessings.
Top two photos: Osterville, Mass. Third: bowl of veggies for the dinner party