Our loquats must second survive a late-winter freeze which will wither and blacken still unripe treats after first dodging an earlier winter frost or freeze which will kill the blooms: then we have tree rats the meek call squirrels. The Meek have yet to sup on succulent Loquats – the crackers (slang for Redneck) hereabouts call Japanese Plums – or make them into jams and purees. The taste too good ever to get inside the kitchen. And I save the seeds to scatter throughout my Sanford walkabouts and one day find both refuge from sun with shade and pale golden delights with juicy goodness to reward my foresight and willingness to stuff pockets with pits sometimes as big as finger-and-thumb tips. Thanks, “Juice,” I now have another reason to visit Sodom-On-The-Bay (but I will remember to bring my woolies and London Fog W/liner) to take care of a typical June and July cool spell. BART is reputed to be the only local conveyance (bus) to have installed pot-bellied wood-burning stoves…or do they do that with the trains, too?

Cat Nap Revue

quiet enough
to hear a loquat
hit the ground

(“Failed Haiku,” Vol. 2, Issue 19, edited by Michael Rehling)

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