Quetzal came skipping up yesterday mid-morning with both hands behind her back. She was glowing. “Which hand?” she asked. “Left,” I said. She shook her head. “Right,” I said. And so in slow motion she brought around her right hand and there it was, the season’s first, a perfectly ripe Big Dena tomato. We stared at it for a few seconds, and then she handed it off to me and we stared a while longer. It seemed like a new center of gravity, a small sun.
Quetzal initially placed the tomato in the very center of our dining room table. Later on she placed it on a cutting board along with her favorite knife. When I returned home from Portsmouth, I noticed she had added a small bouquet of sweet peas to one side. That’s how it showed all last evening, last night, and that’s how the tomato shows right now. The Queen Bride, the first begotten, some new revelation sent down from Saddleback Mountain. Our Big Dena. When we go to eat it, it will be like communion. When we walk through the valleys we will know no evil. We shall stand as lifted. Yea we will stand as lifted.