Sunday, December 15, 2013

The Pomegranate Cycle Remains


Every year in December, I wonder at these

Ancient symbols of many things, full of seeds and bright crimson meaning, signs of fertility (full of seeds), portents of paradise, mystical in number, and confused sweetness inside. In December in Phoenix in some places, they hang like Christmas ornaments drying in the sun.

Unpicked

Slowly slowly down to ground they bend

Against the sky, visited by birds until gone

Year after year I pass by and see them. By December, they're scarlet husks hanging in the sun. Yet hanging: not faded though, still blazing on the surface if not inside. Like some familiar ritual of autumn passing into finally winter for me, an image of the passage of time itself. On a quiet side street I pause on my bicycle late on a Sunday afternoon to ponder the red globes against the golden leaves and blue sky as the birds congregate for their dusk chorus. Spheres against the sky, waxing and waning on a cycle of one year. 

Compare/contrast another sphere putting on a show over Camelback Mountain on my Sunday ride, rising up, glowing bright, showing off its monthly cycle while I'm on my daily.

We're all just turning here. Returning, and slowly fading in the sun. I gather into a sphere, and orbit the canal on my bike.




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