Sunday morning early. Quiet. I’m passing by the Middle School, which opened last week. I see a ladder and a pair of legs, knees down, in a leaf-dense bush…shrub.
I keep walking, and I see it’s a woman. In a fig tree. It’s fig season, I think. This is my second picking, she says. Gleefully.
[Photos no relation to the story. Hibiscus and glinting sun. Today. No figs.]