One season flowers, while another bears fruit
In the spring when the air fills with orange blossoms and Jasmine, I let my lungs run free.
In the winter when the sky turns gray and a chill fills the air, I wait for the fruit in chameleon-like fashion to ripen from green to orange.
I am never certain how much fruit will fill the orange tree. I just know white scented flowers will burst forth each spring. Mathematically it would be impossible for every blossom to turn into an orange. Somehow mother nature knows this. Each spring a wind appears and ruffles the leaves just enough to blow off the blossoms and thin the crop.
The green grass at the base becomes littered with snowflake-like blossoms, a winter wonderland illusion.
Although citrus trees set their own fruit, bees give the fruit production a bit of a boost. They are attracted to the scent and sweetness of the flowers. It must be a dessert lover’s delight.
On late spring nights, the perfume-scented trees overwhelm my garden. Mixed with the jasmine along the fence it’s hypnotic.
It’s late October now, and a wet, windy storm just passed through. I watched as the orange tree swayed and the unripened fruit bobbed when gusts caught them off guard.
I wondered how many would fall and how many would hang on.
In the aftermath all held firm. The crop would be bountiful by early spring. The fruit would be ripe as new blooms would start to appear.
A double dose of sweetness from fruit and flower.
