It was good to hear from you today.
And talk to you
Like I mean really talk
The way we hadn't allowed ourselves to in months, perhaps years.

Of things known and unknown,
Of paths and dreams and hopes and fears.

A fig tree between us,
We discussed its multitude of branches,
Even as we pruned many of them,
And they died before us.

We'd eaten the figs in the past, though.
Sometimes sweet,
Sometimes rotten.
We never both ate the right ones at the same time.

But of course that's neither here nor there,
Because it's less about the figs we eat,
And more about our experience relating the figs to each other.

How mine was sweet that time,
And yours bitter the next.
How you didn't know if you could quite pluck that one fig,
Way up high,
That looked so delicious and ripe.

And how I was quite certain you could.

The fig never really mattered at all.
What mattered was our discussing the figs,
Coming together every now and then as the tree grew more branches,
Knowing when to eat and when to leave it alone.

We sat in the tree's shade,
And even if our figs weren't always perfect,

I was thankful for the chance to sit with you, anyway.