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He gets steady production of loquats – too few freezin’ days – or nights – and I pray his squirrels take all his delectable treats. When a loquat remains ‘treed’ and withers and browns – and you smell fermentation wait another day carefully guarding from alcoholic birds and tree rats for a pure taste of joy and wonder…jellied and slightly off, the skin-shot of juice is worth the infrequency as desire overcomes demand and you join the eating frenzy way too soon. Discipline! Young boozer!

a bushy tailed wind
ripples through the loquat leaves
flashes of gray fur

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