Fig Tree
In Almería the season was almost over
Or is it over already?
A quest
Finding a fig in the darkest city
Tangled into the green-black foliage
A piece of sugar candy
Unexpected, sweet, and green
Burgundy and juicy inside
With eyes closed, soft and tender
A taste of butterflies feeling
A honeyed sensation
If figs are still holding in the canopy
Awaiting to be found
I reckon, the season isn’t over
The season is just starting
ça ne fait que commencer












