Haunting yet delicate – the dusky heart of a sun-ripened fig uplifted by ethereal plumes of creamy oleander, neroli orange blossom, freesia, carnations, white marigolds, and cerejeira.

Fig tree, for how long now have I found meaning
in the way you almost forget to bloom
and drive without drama your pure mystery
into the young determined fruit.
Like a fountain's channel your curving branches
force the sap downward and up again;
look, it springs
straight from sleep into its sweetest
achievement—
like the god entering a swan. . . .
- Rainer Marie Rilke

art: The Angel of the Birds, Frantisek Dvorak 1910