Little hard yellow fruit on the branch waits to ripen.
It doesn’t know what it is yet.
Could be sweet. Could be sour.
It could have a rind or not.
Whatever we decide it is now, that is a guess.
It makes me think about the entelechy – the acorn that is always essentially acorn but has that within that is destined to be a tree. And when the conditions are right, it can be as easy as fruit falling off a tree.
Time will shake us all from our trees eventually.
*
I guess I can see why this passage is usually cut out. It sure feels like a whole lot of stalling.
The Hamlet Project 