You must gather up what falls but leave what falls behind. Fruit and time are old friends, they tag-team the sun for our delight. Savor me now, fruit says, and in return I will nourish your grandchildren.
Time, being gender fluid, is a bit more cautious; they understand that you might have some life-changing event and not get around to proper pruning, or won’t catch the leaf rust in time. Or sell the house to buy a condo and the new owner gets tired of cleaning up the mess every summer.
Time is constantly telling fruit: decay already! The earth is waiting for your seed! The sun is ready to rain his love down upon you. Rise. Release. Repeat.
We are worthy of the struggle, but, yes, time will win. They appreciate our insistence on some recognition. They watch us with our Oh my this is incredibly delicious I want to taste it forever and and I want my children and my grandchildren to taste it forever and ever.
So, I just open the earth with my hands, like this? Place the seed here? Is it deep enough, will the rains get in? What bargain with time must I make for that particular swelling of sunlight to ever grace my lips again? Will I be there to gather up what falls away?