Each year, I wait for the first fig leaves, plump as toads and thick with the summer thoughts.
They bring memories of past springs and summers. And I even remember the autumns, when the leaves grow gray and brown and brittle as paper.
Now those old leaves mulch the citrus trees, and when it rains, or when I irrigate the citrus, the spicy scent of fig leaves fills the air.
Oh, soon the east side will be shaded by the fig tree! And I can take my cup of tea and sit beneath it, looking up at the blue sky behind the green!