Every day around this time (sunset), when I've finished with most of my daily chores and obligations, I sit down and think about what I want to write in this space.
Sometimes, it's easy and obvious. Other times (hint: like tonight) it's tricky. Rather than tumbling out of me like lava from a volcano, the words drip as if from a leaky faucet.
No, it is not always easy; in fact, much of the time it is very, very hard. But I write, almost every day, because I am a student of writing, and I know the only way for me to improve is to keep practicing.
Today's post began from a single image. In my backyard, I stared up at the plum tree with its rotting fruit and falling leaves and suddenly noticed a startling development -- one fresh new red ripening plum! (above)
I heard my lips whisper to my ears: How can this be?
It's supposedly winter here, or at least late fall. Once again, global warming comes to mind, always a scary thought. I hope that is not the explanation.
Here's what I hope. This little plum, arriving so much later than expected, is a special messenger, a visitor from Mother Nature, with a story to tell.
Maybe when (s)he first tried to develop, last spring and summer, there was no room for another plum in this world. The quota was used up, and (s)he was left waiting at the entry gate.
Then, courtesy of our unusually warm weather this autumn, our little friend spotted a chance to swell and sweeten and emerge alone on a nearly naked tree.
If so, this shall be the most special of fruits. I do not think I could eat it. But maybe, when it falls, I will dry and preserve it. In the interests of scientific inquiry.
Those who emerge against the odds, fighting for recognition long after their kind has fallen out of fashion, deserve a special consideration.
Don't you agree?
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