Waiting On Perfection
There is a fine brown line between the fig on the vine
Ripe and ready
And the fig on the tree
Still nursing at the breast of the mother-source
Hours away still
From table ready
I have stalked the tree
Begged the fruit
Pleaded and cajoled
For the sweet release of well-timed fruit
There is a dance of courtship
When waiting on perfection
My eagerness to slice the fig
Place it on a bed of young arugula
Covered, no smothered, in cotton white goat cheese
Clouds my epicurean judgement
All decision-making skills go out the window
And I
Hungry and in need
Eager, but unknowing
When to wait and when to go
Pick the time I believe is best
I would wait on perfection
If she and the tree would speak softly and lead me into the thick of the laden-branches with knowledge from the tree
Covered with pea-green youth
Whisper go or stay
Grant me the patience I do not have
Job-like and long-suffering, take pity
Gift me with Solomon-like wisdom of certainty
And precision
But I am growing older now
And I am content with imperfect figs
Deeming
Perfection grossly over-rated
For now,
I am content
Perfectly
With every shade of brown
(Partial though I must admit to Cow’s Ear Brown)
I have no use for perfect fruit
Or perfect
otherwise
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People. I have a free subscriber-only letter. I do hope you’ve signed up. Letter One was sent last week. Letter Two releasing Friday. I think you might want to try it. Spoiler alert… I promise it is not perfect. Just filled with grace.
The link is here. It is super simple. See you there.
.Click here (A Quiet Place For Words)