And Now, a Message for the Birds

We planted seeds tonight in coffee filters

watered in clear-sealed bags to take-in sunlight

because we ate fruit

the kind that grow on trees

and tonight,

we began celebrating the Jewish festival called Tu B’Shevat,

a Matsuri for Trees, my daughter caroled in.


Thank you, God, for the gift of trees

abundant tree leaves

solid branches hefty trunks

seeds and juicy juicy fruit!


Of course we rattled off a solid list of animals

who depend on trees,

(come on, that’s basic).


Our boy smuggled-in kinkan

like pirate coins

raided the banana basket like loot

and it was

Japanese-grown, gorgeous delicious,

tips-of-the-bunch-shrunk in plastic

like a glove

he loves fruit.


After depleting the fruit bank


A couple month shy of two. He painted this before deciding to crash-down in a tantrum again. The wonderful thing is that he gets back up and is learning from it. Hopefully, me, too.

And our girl,

marvelous spotter of tonight’s full moon

cuz it’s Tu B’Shevat,

sang, “It’s as bright and sparkly as the sun!”

And it was!

Swinging higher until now, hours later,

I’d have to step outside and walk a bit down the driveway to see its

orange orb petals of reflected rays.


She loves the sun, moon, and fruit.

And we painted,

swirled watercolors and acrylic

on canvas squares,

hers showing us

mustard and wakame leaves.


Also a border of crunchy red ones;

she knows seasons.


And because we are just that cultured, ahem,

we three painted to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons

and guessed when spring gave way to summer.


I chose to paint rain and clouds and everything I don’t always love,

but need.

Trees, too, and especially.

Everything needs water, not just coffee, black,

and sometimes water comes dark, ribald like the night,

earthy, not delicate, nope.


But then it rains and those drops fly out,

the barks, the peels of light

and then


and then seeds


seeds coming alive

life coming alive again

in time for everything it needs to grow

and know



We painted and planted and sang in Hebrew.

We ate truckloads of fruit for Tu B’Shevat.

Now they sleep and all of our seeds,

the best ones,

they are the ones that shall grow.


And isn’t it trees and seeds and the longing and picking of fruit that is continuance?

It is choosing a spot and letting the anchor drop on a place called Hope.

This is for me, Tu B’Shevat.

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