Yellow skins stretch thin around the sweet swollen fruit, fattened and furtive amid thick clusters of leaves, full of juice and tugging the top unreachable limbs. I pull a branch down, rummage through a clump of green, and pluck one perfect gold gem. Careful of delicate blooms, one after another my sap-stained fingers seek the last of this year's yield. Searching each limb slowly, deliberately, my hands deftly learning the art of reaping, I see the cycle begin again, feel the spring sun warm new buds open, and listen as bees, boldened by the citrus scent, hum their pollen song into pearl-white petals that hold the heart of next year's treasure.
