Every man who has fallen off a ladder has said to himself, it won’t happen to me.
So I take the next step up, the last one before THIS IS NOT A STEP. This is one of those 8-foot ladders, so now I am at 7.35 feet or thereabouts. From the eyeball perspective, it’s a long way down, concrete below. I am in pursuit of the Santa Rosa plums that seduce from on high. Dark, rich wine color. Darker than wine. Heading toward black.
Three are within arm’s length. The first I pick looks seconds away from dropping overripe, oozing where the stem joins the fruit. It is soft. It is juicy. It is so delicious that were I a fainting type I might faint, although the timing would be greatly inconvenient. The other two are merely sensational.
I move the ladder again and again, reaching higher, taking greater risks. I do tadasana on THIS IS NOT A STEP, a master of balance. I pull on a branch to bring the prize toward me that thus far eludes my fingertips. If this little branch tears from the limb, I will be propelled backward into space and the cast factory. This is really stupid, but there, I’ve got it. Well worth the risk.
This Is Just To Say
I have eaten
that were in
you were probably
they were delicious
and so cold
William Carlos Williams