Sunday 11 September 2011

Pomegranate.

As we were sitting at the table under the trees in our orchard, drinking wine, playing instruments, and carting trays of meat back and forth from the wood-fired oven, I stared at a pomegranate tree, so full of ripe fruit. It felt like my tree. Finally.

That was one of the times I thought it would be nice to be sterilising glass bottles and storing the juice for the winter. I would put it in my pantry with the fig jam, the litres of olive oil, and the dried apples, pears, prickly pears, chesnuts, almonds, and walnuts this year yielded. I stared at that tree and asked myself if I was ready for the simplicity of this life.

4 comments:

  1. I have just caught up. I must have been living under a log for a while. So lovely to find you in and about and around the place...

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  2. oh yes. yes. the pomegranate life.

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