Breakfast So Perfect

So perfect a breakfast this Sunday morning

As no other food or hand could provide.

My cravings, my hungers immediately satisfied.

Clear blue sky and sun rising and the

Morning dew wetting my shoes and pants leg

As I walk to the fig tree in my backyard.

Planted by my grandmother's brother before

I was born and still bearing fruit for my table,

For my cravings over all these years.

Grandma and grandpa's way of still providing

For me all these years after they have gone.

Delicious, sweet, juciy figs fat, soft, and golden green.

The red pink fleshy insides spreading apart

Beween my finger tips this morning.

God doth provide and abundantly so!

The birds feast on the figs and a spider

Weaves its web making a home in the branches.

I feast on a good half dozen or so this morning.

My fingers and lips sticky with their sweetness.

How perfect this breakfast, these few precious minutes,

This Sunday morning coming home after work

Hungry, ravaged, tired, sleepy, but all of this satisfied.

Perfectly satisfied by a handful of figs, my own figs

Born of my own tree in my own backyard.

I go inside satiated, shower, and sleep well.