They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore. Everyone will sit under their own vine and under their own fig tree, and no one will make them afraid, for the Lord Almighty has spoken. All the nations may walk in the name of their gods, but we will walk in the name of the Lord our God for ever and ever. (Micah 4:3-5)

I inherited a fig tree, but did not know it.  I thought it was dead and nearly killed it.

It has become fabulously fruitful.

I planted two vines.  One was poisoned.  The second has withered before each harvest.

In the season just begun, I still hope to taste some grapes.

Both fig and grape start green and hard. Just ripe their surfaces stay firm, sleek.

Beautiful flirts peaking from their leaves, yet soon shriveling in the summer sun.

With care an essence may be preserved: dark, wet, succulent with flavor.

In winter wine or Christmas tarts we recall the bright warmth of younger times.