The 2 pomegranate bushes in our backyard in East Jerusalem are as outdated as our house, 25 years, planted quickly after my father completed constructing it. This season, they bore a lot fruit their branches drooped below the solar, like an individual weighed down by life. With a mop, my father propped these branches up. They are saying it’s a fantastic line between genius and loopy. The sight of these pink orbs, swimming among the many inexperienced pointed leaves, with a blue squeegee on a wood stick propping them up was as a lot a manifestation of that quote as something I had ever come throughout.
