On a simple day, there is rarely movement. Wind blows and our house shakes against the breeze. The birds land and pick at the weakest of our link; the moon brings only more critters exploring. I sit passively as they scour our home, their fur brushing against my peel as I pass on the traces of pollen another had left on me.
Sometimes I envy their freedom, the movement with which they explore, hearing the rhythm of their climbs up and down my front porch. To explore such a freedom, for an existence as fruitful as mine, would mean a steep fall from what I’ve known all my life. Often I acquiesce such wonderings as perhaps it is better to dream than to know.
The grooves of my thick skin protect me from the wandering hands of others. And the sweet scent of what I have to offer permeates to those who can sense it, but ultimately lies buried deep where only I can see. We’ve evolved to know, what we have others want. But no one really knows, until I am peeled open, what I have been hiding inside: sweetness or a sour rotten fruit.
And so, I spend my days watching just like this. Day after day my skin toughens and thickens as others get picked first, and I don’t mind at all. Sure, some days I seethe with envy, drinking nutrients from the branch that feeds with angst and wishing to fall. Then I am at peace, happy to stay within music of the sparrows which sing in the branches above me.
Oh, to be a sweet tangerine…
But everything changed the moment I saw you, sitting there just across the tree. The leaves were beginning to change as the sun started to leave us earlier each day. Within the darkness of the colder breeze, I could sense your presence connected to me. The flow of the water from the roots to your nape, it felt so intimate to know we shared such a scene. It is now peak tangerine season, and our prime bestowed onto me your orange light and sent your scent drifting by ever so frequently.
It pains me now, the immobility. To be within reach but never able to speak. I denied the tree, wishing nutrients to you instead of me. Wishing for your sweetness to ripen to your desire, wanting nothing for myself but to see your skin be healthy. I know nothing of what is inside, just as mine are hidden to thee; but, I wish it will grow happily. My skin began to darken, growing soft with love - I think it’s killing me. But I do love you so! With all my being, I love you so intensely! I beg for the tree to let me go, to give you everything it would give to me. Rotten, squishy, black from mold, and sickly, I have never felt so sweet.
Oh, to be but a simple tangerine.