Good morning!
It’s Tuesday. Another seed factory that’s kicking into high gear is in the apple trees, where the fruits have been slowly plumping and blushing their way towards an eventual ripeness.
The original fruit of temptation, a good apple invites the lusty eyes of passers-by—those who find themselves unable to resist plucking and biting and chewing and smacking and savoring as they wander off. Or, in the case of these particular apples, taking a hopeful bite, puckering one’s lips, maybe trying one more time, and then giving up and tossing the apple as far as you can throw.
But for those apples consumed by other animals, Mother Nature’s second genius dispersement system soon kicks in. Plop goes the seed in a brand new location. Equipped only with hope and a genetic blueprint of the tree from whence it cometh, that humble seed then does its best to create a whole new tree from scratch.
“In this broad earth of ours,
Amid the measureless grossness and the slag,
Enclosed and safe within its central heart,
Nestles the seed perfection.”—Walt Whitman
Onwards,
Clara
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