Flawless

To begin with just knowing you were there in my fruit bowl was pleasure enough. There was no need of touch. For days I wanted nothing more than your heady orange presence. There was always going to be that moment though when I would reach for you.

And so it was. Finally. And in the eating, you were so many things. But most of all, you were willing. It was as if you wanted to hasten your own emptiness. You melted easily onto my teaspoon. I remember you creamy yet like a finely grained custard with mellow tropical overtones. Less than sweet with a faint tropical fragrance. Your touch on my palate was so light as to feel almost a tease. I can barely tell where discovering you came to an end and being forever devoted to you began. It matters little. All you need know is that, as flawless persimmons go, you were my first.

Orange Coloured Memories

Autumn in New Zealand is always a whirlwind time for me. There are a flurry of celebrations and photo ops that I must attend in my botanical gardens. But now winter is upon us and in the ensuing silence it is only my memories that are orange. One such memory is of a single perfectly ripe persimmon which I consumed just a few weeks ago. I posted the evidence here on my blog. The glistening persimmon shell. That I did not comment on this at the time and that I barely had time to post the photo indicates what a whirlwind time that was. One breathless orange celebration after another. I try always to pen a note of appreciation after such events but this persimmon was overlooked somehow.

And persimmons, being the sort of fruit they are, do not care for being overlooked. And so I am busy right now. Writing my belated thank you note to that empty persimmon shell.

Frozen Fog

Winter is only just upon us here in New Zealand and already I have cabin fever. Not the kind that I have experienced during past winters in New York when I was snug inside my little cabin in the woods with the great love of my life. No. That's a different kind of fever. The kind I have today makes even cinnamon chasers grumpy! The guest list is long and growing longer. It began as frost and ice. Then came sleet, hail, snow flurries, snow, blizzards. And then a newcomer to my winter guest list here in New Zealand. Freezing fog. Freezing fog? To the uninitiated (as I was barely five minutes ago) this is a phenomenon seemingly associated with the nearness of bodies of water such as rivers or lakes. Well that may be but to me frozen fog sounds more like a summer desert I might lick from the back of a spoon whilst reclining in the adirondack chair I painted so carefully last year. The chair that sits waiting patiently for me on the deck of my cabin in the American woods. The chair that went through a whole winter without me and might even have a dragonfly or two sitting on it as I write this, and a hummingbird hovering overhead. Waiting. Waiting.

Condiments for the Lonely Heart

I seem to have developed a fetish for condiment making. I get like this when I have spent too long away from the great love of my life. I begin to make things. Edible things. In my fridge are jars of chutney. Lots and lots of jars of chutney. Date chutney. Spicy apple and walnut chutney. Pumpkin and smoked paprika chutney. Apricot and orange chutney. Each sets itself apart from the next by the company it keeps. My apricot chutney likes to share the platter with plump English sausages. The pumpkin chutney has designs on my popped open pita breads and some fresh rocket! The spicy apple and walnut chutney is content in the company of a good English cheddar and a New Zealand Chardonnay. And the date chutney? Well actually that is a great worry to me. My wayward child so to speak. One day I might know more about the company it prefers to keep. But for now I simply worry.

Persimmoned!