#10 - Nathan And The Willy Tree

'Right now, they're like sticky, puckered grubs,'
says Nathan, tapping one of the willies

with a bit of twig.
Nathan has a way with similes
because, before he became a willy farmer,
he was a poet

who specialised in pastoral scenes.
'Some people eat them young -
early willies have a certain...'
he circles his twig in the precise, sharp Spring air,
conjuring le mot juste,
'... piquancy. Poignancy?'
He looks at me,
smiling sheepishly.
'Do I mean poignancy or piquancy?'

Behind him, each willy is a soft, pale
chrysalis and I think
he has never looked so beautiful.