I was on my morning walk when I first saw you. I had barely finished my morning coffee, so I didn't recognize you, already standing there in a moment of your history on the side of the road, your patient, relaxed limbs outstretched. The sun was starting to kiss your crown. Last night, the Santa Ana winds blew some of your berries onto the ground and me out of sleep and into your path. If any moment had been different, we may never have met. Perhaps this is how many encounters in Ojai's fields and orchards begin. I picked up one of your twigs, heavy with pink pearls, as though grabbing for a necklace someone dropped.
"Yeah. They're everywhere. If you look higher in the tree, the berries are still green."
