First the long wait:
trees stubborn in their stasis,
only buds, only
promises unyielding to the squeeze.
Then –
overnight almost!
an abundance attracting the birds,
the sun.
Come to their trees and find them burst open,
drinking in the light,
or the semi-spoiled meal of toddlers pecking on passing by.
Neglect for a minute and ripeness turns to rotting;
at the right time, they will drop
at your fingers’ lightest touch.
Too much; preserve what you can,
before the thieves of beak and day render worthless
on your watch.
