The figs in my garden are starting to ripen, filling the air with their honey-scented bounty… the fig tree has finally grown strong enough to face the harsh wind, and has become a place of cool shadowy shelter in the heat of summer… I see the figs maturing slowly, from hard immature bright-green to the soft round sweetness of opulent green-violet… the infinite play of light and shadow under the branches of the tree, the soft wind that moves green leaves along with green fruits ask for quiet observation… you cannot come to the tree hungry for its sweetness, you need to walk softly amidst the buzz of bees and hornets, to become acquainted with the ripe fruit you are about to pick and swallow, to sense with gratefulness the intimacy of giving and receiving…