Harvesting Value
I know that the number one thing I am harvesting is my own value.
It is the luscious, ripe, full dark skinned bulge of the plum. The taste on my tongue. The juice that runs down my face in overflowing ripe exuberance. It is the sweet stickiness on my fingers. The stain on my napkin.
It’s the bow of the branch as it strains to hold and contain the full arrival of what the seed is capable of. It’s the loss of the flower that gave up its nectar to the hummingbirds and the bees, to the next plum tree that will come to be.
It is the soft squish of the ground, the sound of overwhelm hanging in fullness. The weight of a blossom transformed into the heavy fruit filled body that dances with gravity. How it meets the ground with a breaking of its skin because it can no longer hold in all the life that wants to burst forth from the flesh of its limitations.
And it is none of these things.
It is the quiet after all the plums have gone.
It is the gentle call of the earth that pulls the flow of life back into itself, back into the inner core, the hidden desire, the private interior of subtle darkness as the branches lose their leaves and the ground freezes over. It is the first frost. It is the acceptance of the coming snow, the darker days, the receding light.
I think of the plum tree
in the front yard of the house that was my own
the house that was meant to be because it was so right
the house of arrival
deep in the room of my own text
the place I entered my body
and thus my life for the first time
I think of it there still
growing in that yard next to the towering Catalpa
how it is likely forming plums
imbued with the air, the rain, the elements of this particular
year that will shape each fruit into a unique taste of season
This vision of value
is simply a dormant longing
a natural vision that lives in the original seed
from which this tree rises and forms its life
Its an inner knowing that finds
its way in then out and through
a miraculous containment
so that it can be
the sweet plum
it is meant to be
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