Flesh of a Fig

Not quite saggy sweet,
though the one on the top right is beginning to wrinkle.

When the door bell rings, I don't always answer.  Today I peeked from the office and saw Tony's reflection in the glass of a wall photo.  Safe.  And sweet!  Tony's my darling Italian neighbor who knows I go crazy over Italian Prunes, Italian Parsley, Italian Cucumbers, and the figs this fellow grows in his back yard.

Today he had shuffled across the street with a generous bowl of figs, this time from his brother's trees.  He blushed when I told him to give his brother a hug and a kiss for me.

Extravagant and exquisite

The fig flesh in this picture still lingers in my mouth, the memory fresh and nearly obscene in it's pleasure, proof that the Great Creator of All takes pleasure in our pleasure.  Lovely to be surprised by the Things I get to do today--bask in the splendor of a honey-dripping, saggy-fleshed fig.