The last plum of the season on its branch misshapen,
sings of the harvest complete and stored,
of long cold nights and early evenings,
of books read quietly at twilight and mugs of tea,
of maple firewood stacked by the kitchen door,
of fragrant woodsmoke and kindled hearth,
the tastes of umiboshi, onigiri and new made jam.
4 comments:
You have a beautiful blog! Lovely photos.
Um, ok, now. Which plum tastes best? The first of the season, or the last of the season?
That plum is species I liked best. Yum.
What a sweet, sweet poem, Kerrdelune.
Hm, the first plum or the last plum? The first plum is certainly not as sweet as the last one, for plums need a few suspended days to ripen up and deepen in colour before falling to earth. I love the first plum of the season and the last one too, but there is something poignant about that last plum, sweet, special and a little sad.
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