![](http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2466/2000/320/Cut%20persimmon%20copyright%20Anna%20Tambour.jpg)
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.
![](http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2466/2000/320/persimmon%20leaf%20copyright%20Anna%20Tambour.jpg)
To the inhabitants: a temporary shelter? village? metropolis? island? universe?
![](http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2466/2000/320/Closeup%20copyright%20Anna%20Tambour.jpg)
The leaf was just as busy.
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