When I was nine my mother planted an avocado pit
in the sun of our garden
knowing that the inevitable damp
of the B.C. winter was ahead.
And when I was eleven, it was the graft of a grape vine-
but we had an unusually wet fall.
And so we enjoyed raspberries and rhubarb and lettuce.

The avocado pit and grape vine grew in me.

Sometimes, when the summer harvest in southern states
makes avocados affordable
and grapes available, I remember and hope.

I hope for my children, for moments of reflection
that come between raindrops on a windshield
or in the pauses of coffee conversation.

I hope for myself,
for the confidence to trust
instinct and intuition;
to be wise to those who would use me,
and gentler with the ones who would not.

And I hope for her,
that the avocado pits and grape vines
will take to the soil and sun of her new house;
and that my children might know,
as well,
the fruits of her summer planting.

- Ken Fox