The persimmons are ripe enough that the king parrots have been sampling them and the wallabies pick them. So we took our share, too. Persimmons are, I think, extreme fruits. Extreme beauty, the colours being beyond words. The texture of colouration is something so subtle in a persimmon that it's almost unnoticeable when there is so much colour to luxuriate in.
The taste of a ripe persimmon is utterly glorious. It needs nothing but a nose and mouth and tongue to appreciate it.
Compared to a persimmon, today's strawberries and peaches are crassly coloured styrofoam.
I was trying to soak as much of this persimmon into my senses, cutting it up and photographing it first, when I noticed a piece of lint on the tip of the leaf-stem that I tore off the fruit when I cut it.
To the inhabitants: a temporary shelter? village? metropolis? island? universe?
The leaf was just as busy.
No comments:
Post a Comment