in which, surrendering to its lush temptation, we hoist the fig in adulation—for i can think of no other worldly fruit with which i’d rather fill a mouthful….
On the high desert plateau of Arizona, just north of the Mogollon Rim, where the barren Valley of the Sun changes to the Colorado Plateau, a visionary architect stood, circa 1955, and foresaw his City of the Future.
He worked with earth-casting techniques to build, using the local soil, sand, and silt to make concrete. His vision was a dense urban core surrounded by open land, rather than sprawl. His vision took root, the city grew.
Of Italian origin, he planted fig trees in his city. His link to his childhood.
I stood there circa 1994, biting into a fresh plucked fig. Divine ecstasy as the canyon surrounded me.
Oh. Babs, once again your invitation to pause and consider the fig, or the moment, or our breath or in my case the twirl of the cottonwood golden leaf as it leaves the branch that grew it so perfectly. Leaving like a child, spinning, landing. The great mother tree simply standing and accepting the seasons of life. And Naomi Shihab Nye and Wendell Berry. Two of my many inspirations for noticing. As are you! XOXO Jan janetsterkhealingjourneys.com
ah, darling, you grasped the deeper point: yes, yes! to pause to pay attention to the slightest margin in the day. the fruit that makes our knees buckle. the sky that breaks us out in goosebumps. yes, yes.
On the high desert plateau of Arizona, just north of the Mogollon Rim, where the barren Valley of the Sun changes to the Colorado Plateau, a visionary architect stood, circa 1955, and foresaw his City of the Future.
He worked with earth-casting techniques to build, using the local soil, sand, and silt to make concrete. His vision was a dense urban core surrounded by open land, rather than sprawl. His vision took root, the city grew.
Of Italian origin, he planted fig trees in his city. His link to his childhood.
I stood there circa 1994, biting into a fresh plucked fig. Divine ecstasy as the canyon surrounded me.
A fig in Eden? Not hard to believe.
gloriously rendered remembrance of figs past.......
Oh. Babs, once again your invitation to pause and consider the fig, or the moment, or our breath or in my case the twirl of the cottonwood golden leaf as it leaves the branch that grew it so perfectly. Leaving like a child, spinning, landing. The great mother tree simply standing and accepting the seasons of life. And Naomi Shihab Nye and Wendell Berry. Two of my many inspirations for noticing. As are you! XOXO Jan janetsterkhealingjourneys.com
ah, darling, you grasped the deeper point: yes, yes! to pause to pay attention to the slightest margin in the day. the fruit that makes our knees buckle. the sky that breaks us out in goosebumps. yes, yes.
and love to you. always…..
What a fun post! And I love figs! Summer tree candy. :)
perfectly put, sweet friend!