A breeze waves the dangling fruit before me.
In the clean, quiet mornings of summer,
is it possible to love too much the redness,
the swing of the full branches, sun illuminating
mysteries inside? Is the temptation to love too much
or too little in this world? For several days,
the birds have been worshipping here;
yet only today have I gathered fruits,
turned them in my juicy fingers, hummed a tune
for the joy of the moment. How could I look at this tree
and not want to taste the color red? It is a sin
that the heart dawdles and worries when the world
is laid out before it in such perfection. Up here
surrounded by breeze and branches, it seems
as simple as reaching out, tasting,
and not forgetting to spit out the stone.

Nancy Pulley