The seasons in California are so different from the seasons in Poland. It is hard to get used to, and I always feel bewildered, not just delighted, when citrus fruit ripens on my trees in January and February, so I have a juicy supply of Vitamin C and other essential minerals until at least May if not longer. Pink grapefruit, blood oranges and mandarine - first fruit shines in yellow and orange among dark green leaves, then the trees will bloom in April, filling the garden with incredibly sweet fragrance. The lemon tree blooms and gives me lemons year-round, so it is not as surprisingly extraordinary as the other trees.
I celebrate their gifts every morning and wonder why "pink" grapefruit and "blood" orange if they are the same hue inside?
FROM MINIUM CHRONICLES
A tall glass of water and three
oranges,
three blood oranges from a tree I
planted
ten years ago in my Sunland garden.
A tall glass of water... Am I a lump of
clay
that's returning to Earth? Ashes to
ashes?
The journey's done, nothing remains?
Am I a star of unsung brilliance
hidden in a fragile body –
learning, collecting wisdom of
limitation, before
my triumphant return to the glory of
timeless Now?
Am I saved? Redeemed? Do I need a
Savior?
Am I my own savior, perhaps? What is
true?
What is real? Ashes to ashes or light into
Light?
A tall glass of water and three blood
oranges
for breakfast. I'm grateful for the
knowledge
they impart. What I am. What I'm made
of.
The abundance of rain and sweetness
of sunlight
fills the fruit with fragrant, rosy
juice, under
the soft, pliable rind – so lovely
inside and outside.
A fruit of the earth, air, water, fire
nourishes me
with elements. The fruit I made that
now makes me
full of morning happiness in the winter
rain.
Soothing patter of raindrops on the
patio roof
assures me that questions do not
matter,
answers do not matter either.
It is the NOW of breathing, of tasting
that
slightly tart, refreshing orange I
grew, a jewel
I add to the beads of memories I keep.
~ Maja Trochimczyk, January 2022
Published in California Quarterly 48:1, Spring 2022
But life surrounding and sustaining us is as vibrant here in California as there in Poland. As vibrant, as life-giving as oxygen that trees make and we breath, as fruit that used to be cherries, apples and pears, but is not orange, grapefruit and pomegranate. Blueberries from the forest, strawberries and raspberries growing by the fence - these are missing, my two American blueberry bushes are not doing well in dry California desert heat. But if we focus on the life of each leaf and petal, the vibrant hues and vibrant energy that they bring, we might forget the chaos and nonsense of cities, full of pollution, aggression, aggravation, and pain.
Maybe because of the brilliance of California sunlight, I like so much to write poems about light, light without and light within, shining, shining, shining...
PRACTICAL ADVICE FOR A FRAZZLED PASSER-BY
When you reach the nadir of darkness—
shine.
When a
stranger pushes you on a sidewalk
say,
“Sunshine, smile”—and shine again.
Think
of the hand of a newborn resting in your palm,
five
fingers smaller than the smallest of yours—
a
miracle coming into being.
Glow
with
the tender infinity
of
diamond light flowing out of your heart—
your
best kept secret—you are the sun, the ascending spiral
of
timeless presence—embodied wisdom—infinite charm—
the
trinity of loving-kindness—the living crystal
constantly
reborn, outflowing from the reservoir
of
divine grace you did not know you were—are—
dazzling
brightness—sparkling, twirling
in an
aetheric waltz of nascent cosmos
that
comes into being in you—
through
you—
with
you—
Say YES
so it
comes—comes—comes—
again—
