Down that path, toward the green Pontiac, I passed first a kumquat tree, a short line of small flowering plants that are less specific in my memory, and then a towering pomegranate tree. This skinny, exotic fruit sapling looked down on my father’s car. Beyond it was a lush but fraying banana tree that could grow but not produce fruit in the dry southern California climate.
This was my home: the couple so in love with each other, the chickens, the sun, trees and concrete. – Walter Mosley