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On figs. — alina Ştefănescu

alinastefanescuwriter.com · 2,263 words · saved by 1 readers

1 I have become a fig thief. My night walks include a stop at the neighbor's fig tree. Darkness makes it difficult to see the fruit from the leaf by the light of the street lamp. Even more difficult to discern an unripe fig from a ripe one. I read in shades and hues with Radu at my side, playing

The fig tree down the street is just past the street lamp on the left. It is obscured by darkness. 1 I have become a fig thief. My night walks include a stop at the neighbor's fig tree. Darkness makes it difficult to see the fruit from the leaf by the light of the street lamp. Even more difficult to discern an unripe fig from a ripe one. I read in shades and hues with Radu at my side, playing sentinel, his tiny nose twitching at every sound or possible mammalian scent nearby. Radu eats a cicada. We return home with two green figs and a desire for something more. 2 In the Bible given to her by

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