and I'm running toward what feeds me. Sometimes, persimmons are the thing itself. But don't you think a persimmon is also a dandy word. While I'm at the Bancroft Succulent Gardens, it's the image of that persimmon tree in winter with a few pieces of remaining fruit, beyond reach that touches me. I'm sure birds are grateful they have wings.
More or less confusion as we digest the semblance of evening--a Seminole for supper, with jam.
ReplyDeleteThey crossed the divide in plenty of time