I haven’t provided a lemon tree update in a while, but we have good news. The tree entered another growth spell a few weeks ago and has extended forth considerable development.
Lemon trees are weird. For one thing,
they’re incompetent as thorn trees. It’s more like: Look at me try, Mom! I
mean, they grow a few random thorns, but nothing in any systematic fashion that
would act as a righteous deterrent. They’re also known to support buds,
blossoms, and ripe fruit all at once. They’re extremely sensitive to change.
Move a potted lemon tree or alter its routine, and it might panic-drop all its
leaves.
Let it also be known that poets are
weird. I’ve been reading about the lives of some of last century’s notable
poets, but I’m not sure I’ll be any better for it. Consider Lowell, Roethke,
Berryman, Jarrell, Thomas, and others—wounded men, drunkards. Men chasing words
through the brambles, stabbing at them, cursing them, abusing classic
structure. They lived messy lives, hurt spouses, and crashed in and out of
jobs.
The lemon tree is weird, as
previously mentioned, but has fortunately shown no tendencies toward poetry.
Just the same, I’m keeping a close watch on it. If it starts leaning into
poetic ambitions, I’ll conduct an intervention at once.
I’m sharing a photograph of the lemon
tree with a Cold Smoke beer next to it for some sense of relative size.
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