Let the Apple ripen on the branch beyond your need to take it down (Blog #38)

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Let the Apple ripen on the branch beyond your need to take it down.

(David Whyte)

One of our all time faves, Lisa Congdon illustrated and posted this quote from a David Whyte poem on Instagram today.

Years ago, Kuki flagged her as someone to look out for. She started following her and buying her books and we took her online Creative Bug classes. All this to say that Lisa is a huge inspiration to us. She is a mostly self taught artist who is not only brilliant, talented and prolific, but has grit and perseverance too.

Yes! her work is incredible but her tenacity and drive are equally impressive.

We learn so much from the artists, poets, influencers and change makers in our midst. We are grateful that we can make art to contribute to the world even in the most insignificant ways.  

As we continue to evolve on this book publishing journey we are deepening our understanding on waiting, ripening, patience and harvest.

Which is why this quote struck us today.

Let the Apple ripen on the branch beyond your need to take it down.

On this cold late Winter day, our fruit is still on the vine and we are savouring the sweet spot of now.

Where do you see the fruit ripening in your life? And do you have a need to take it down? What would happen if you waited?

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WINTER APPLE By David Whyte

Let the apple ripen

on the branch

beyond your need

to take it down.

Let the coolness

of autumn

and the breathing,

blowing wind

test its adherence

to endurance,

let the others fall.

Wait longer

than you would,

go against yourself,

find the pale nobility

of quiet that ripening

demands…

watch with patience

as the silhouette emerges

and the leaves fall;

see it become

a solitary roundness

against a greying sky,

let winter come

and the first

frost threaten,

and then wake

one morning

to see the breath

of winter

has haloed

its redness

with light.

So that a full

two months

after you

should have

taken the apple

down

you hold it in

your closed hand

at last and bite

into the cool

sweetness

spread evenly

through every

single atom

of a pale

and yielding

structure.

So that you taste

on that cold,

grey day,

not only

the after reward

of a patience

remembered,

not only

the summer

sunlight

of a postponed

perfection,

but the sweet

inward stillness

of the wait itself.