Black Fig

Slumped in still hot shade
Cowering from the late morning Sicilian summer sun
We have walked the dry vineyards since dawn
Scouring topsoil for archaeology
For signs of Roman, Arab, Norman
Now we melt sleepily beside our haul
Fragments of pots and tiles
And peer out down the dirt road for our belated lift
A soft plop distracts us, causes us to look up
To realise that our shelter is a fig tree
With sudden energy we jump to shake the branches
Eager for juicy sweetness
When the car arrives, we are gorged on overripe black figs
Hot but content.

Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond

6 thoughts on “Black Fig

        1. This was the summer after I graduated. We worked on an archeological survey of western Sicily, looking for evidence from the Islamic period. We met Mafia, had parties with Princes and dodged the nastiness of a local Mafia war…..but my most vivid memories are of the ordinary mothers determined to get their daughters away form the island and its then quite medieval attitudes to women. But even they couldn’t believe that men could cook!

          Liked by 1 person

          1. That sounds fascinating! And also terrible for those poor women. We sometimes forget that even in Europe these attitudes still exist (ask my mother in law 😅) I studied archaeology and ancient history but never got my hands dirty: kind of wish I had though!

            Liked by 1 person

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