TASTE MY SWEET FIGS
Come, dance with me. To many, I am a symbol of untamed life and joy. Take my big, wide hands and swing along. Sway with me and reach out to the sun. Why make life heavy when it can be so light and so full of color and joy? Each day contains a whole rainbow of opportunities. Let us sweep up this moment in a flurry of passion. Like beams of sun that cut deep into the depths of the ocean, I will illuminate the full spectrum of your innermost desires in myriad colors. Where others hold secrets, I open myself up for all to see. My feelings, my emotions, my inner voices are free. Bold forces stream within me, always searching for gates to discharge from and flow out. “Unfettered and alive” - as your Joni would sing to her followers - that is my motto! My leaves and fruit burst open like costumes on a late carnival night. Following the beat of an inner drum, my membranes vibrate as my blossoms shout out, like trombones in a big band orchestra.
Insects just love me. For them, my fruits resonate with color and imagination. My buds attract fig wasps who crawl in to fertilize my womb.
The wasps feed naively on the mixed cocktail brew I serve. They become disoriented and ultimately suffocate in the red gelatinous upholstery of my fruit. I gratefully soak up their remains. Nutrients are rare in these hot and barren lands. The sacrifice of wasps serves a good purpose. My rich red fruit grows and sweetens. One sunny day they will burst open. The sweet rot of beginning decay attracts other flying insects and birds who dizzily buzz about. Soon my fruit falls, moist and sticky, to the ground. Now, all the animals can partake and feast on my sweetness.
I gleefully call out to the world. Please take my hand and come into my arms. My juices are sweet and beguiling. Taste and don’t look back. And one day, when the time comes, you will have become a part of me.
Home:
Cyprus, coastal fields
Tree species:
Ficus carica
Tree family:
Moraceae, mulberry
Common Names:
Fig tree
Motivation:
The hot Mediterranean air flowed thickly over the mountainside, ripe with the heaviness of the midday sun. A single fig tree stood in the field. The air around vibrated, alive with the noise and fuss of bees, flies, and other winged creatures; all attracted by the hypnotic appeal of the ripened figs: open, inviting, and irrefusable. Fig wasps actually do disappear into the fruit of the classical fig, becoming, unintentionally, a part of our juicy meal.