Summer

The Apricots are turning a deep orange, with burnt red speckles. I picked a bag of them for someone that came by to visit on Christmas day, late in the afternoon. They seemed happy and tucked into them, right there in the front seat of the car. "They will only fall on the ground and rot." It was nice to give a gift to someone that hadnt been born in the cogs of a dying empire, but grew, on its own at the edge of an eight lane freeway. Unseen. Unknown. Except for the invisible threads of relationship.