Hoping you weren’t expecting an original poem here. We’re not exactly poets. But have on occasion have been found to scribble random thoughts in prose, some of which had rhyme, some had reason and occasional nonsense.
The Persimmons Poem we found was dangling from the delicate branches of the tree that was once choked with leaves and fruit. At the end of the season, what was left were a few, sweet, sugary, nectar heavy and plump persimmons that were barely hanging on. They were calling out to be hand-picked.
We’ve been waiting for the rains to shower the persimmons one last time so that we can capture the fruit glistening in its final beauty before we plucked them from the branches. The persimmons love the rain. We know this because the fruit just glows after a good cold shower. Their rich orange color against the delicate branches just have us standing, staring in awe.
So we each snapped a verse from the tree. Voila, our visual Persimmon Poem.
Diane and Todd