Updated: Jul 27
A fruit tree
the most evolved being
on planet Earth,
if we measure by one’s capacity
The fruit tree, she
puts her roots down
wherever she is dropped
as a seed.
She does not argue,
take a year off to travel.
She gets right to the business of
becoming a source of beauty and sustenance.
When she has toiled and matured,
in Spring she flowers,
scenting and colouring our Winter gray hangover,
calling bees and butterflies to branch,
Our beloved Fruit Mother collects pollen,
pulls water and mineral from Earth,
eats the Sun.
An elemental alchemist,
birthing fruit from every blossom.
All this effort she makes, why?
Out of love for you and I.
Hundreds of babies she grows,
She holds them out,
no grasping in love,
all of her - an offering.
We fill our buckets
at her altar.
I don’t recall a fruit tree ever saying,
“A thank you would be nice now and again!”
Fountain of fruit.
Sweet orgy of flesh.
Moans of delight.