I want to tell you a story, dear one, for I may not be here much longer.
It's a story about that tree in the yard, the one full of lemons. Why lemons, you may ask, why are lemons important right now, of all moments? We are in such a hurry to produce meaningful things that we forget about the bounty that is already here. That lemon tree was once but a spindly sprout, perforating the soil in search for the light of dawn. "Oh yawn", you respond, "I know where this is going. That tree is a metaphor for your life, yadda, yadda, yadda..."
Not so quick, little one. That tree lives in a garden that was once covered by rocks, weeds, worms. You were not yet born when your father and I removed all those weeds and rocks with our bare hands. Our hands, in turn, were covered in dirt and blood, but we laughed and laughed, so good was the pain of hard work.
One day, the tree was hit by lightning, and split in half. You can still see where its heart was exposed, and that is what makes it such a special tree. She is torn between two worlds, between right and wrong, clean and dirty, sweet and sour. So too are its lemons: sweet as strawberries, and sour as... well, I don't even know. Sour like your eyes want to come out of their sockets when you suck on their flesh.
May you, my dear, taste the full juice of your delicate life, before lightning strikes.
Image by Oladimej Odunsi on Unsplash