Sun Seductions and Forbidden Fruit

The light outside is one of those late summer evening lights that drags at my spirit and insists on screaming BEAUTY-BEAUTY-BEAUTY, watery sun reaching lazily out of its bath to pick some almost-ripe cherries. It is like taking in love through the eyes in the way it burns itself through to where I live.

The cherry tree is starting too look late-pregnancy; its leaves are tired, drooping after their hard work, and the rounded fruit peeks naughtily from among them; "peekaboo! I'm luscious!" - and look every inch the ripening fruit, still forbidden and thereby, overreachingly sweet.

Something in the golden newness of the firs near Sather Park trips a trap insie me and I am caught, spinning. Summer evening. Lightly cloudy over gray, and that thing the summer sun does to inflame me as it bathes.