Dragonfruiting

It was one full moon ago that the dragon began stirring. Dragonfruit, that is. Which, in its cactus-ey, spinal column-like adherence to our outdoor shower wall, it began to morph, bud, and bloom.

Seems this “Queen of the Night” responds well to full moonlight, as we watched hard succulent skin, unfold in the darkness to reveal the softest petals and hair-fine stamen. The fragrance was subtle and sweet. The pollinators loved it. And we needed the bees to buzz. Their assistance would ensure fruiting. Something that we were told would, quite possibly, not be accomplished.

“I’ve seen blooms on my dragonfruit multiple times, but never got fruit from it.”

When our impressive flowers withered, we wondered.

One month later, the full Harvest moon. Just as quickly as last month’s flowers emerged, this cycle offers blushing shades of pink spreading across folds of fruit-in-the-making.

It looks like the bees were successful!

This soon-to-come harvest in process, bodes well on our days. The Bohemian has been staking out spots for planting over 300 new trees. Holes get dug, while our eyes can only scan the field, imagining. What takes root now, later fruits for future.

Me, I’m readying to share a book with the world, fulfilling a vision I’ve held since I was seven years old and pressing fingertips on the keys of a manual typewriter.

On this full moon, as we near the autumnal equinox, here’s to a fruitful harvest for all!

For those just tuning in, here’s the dragonfruiting process revisited:

This…

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became this…

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And then began budding into this…

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Blooming in moonlight…

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pollinated by morning…

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Now

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beginning

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to bear fruit.

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Sunday Afternoon

We are a cliché, the Bohemian and I, as we sigh at the end of Sunday saying, “The weekend is over already?!”

We are laughing at ourselves living out such a dreadful stereotype, but it’s no joke. Our ‘off’ days seem to go by too quickly.

We savor the haven of down time we do have, seeking out nooks of reprieve where we can.

The end of our weekend was spent with two nine-year old boys, sweaty and giggling, and spilling over with much more energy than what matched our mellow Sunday simmer. We steered them toward the bike path with their skateboards, then found ourselves a little pocket of paradise in the shade.

They practiced skate tricks while we reclined beneath the Ironwoods. Me, I took the ‘mom nap’, sort of resting, but keeping one eye open to the nearby concrete that was repeatedly bombarded with rolling wheels, skidding board tails, and random exclamations like, “Awesome! That was boss!”

That was Sunday…

Now it’s Monday morning.

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