Portrait Of The Quince As An Older Woman

I was delighted to spot this lone fruit on our quince tree. I didn't know we had one until a couple of years ago when I found a few windfalls. Last year nothing. MrQ has recently thinned out the tangled thicket where the tree grows, so maybe it will be revitalised.

I knew my pic was rubbish owing to getting out late with camera in the drizzle. Trouble is I have exhausted my quince anecdotes in previous blips about the fruit. What text was I going to use to bolster my lame blip?

Manna from heaven, I found this great poem by Ellen Phethean written when she was contemplating becoming an 'OAP'. Hope ceridwen in particular likes it, given our recent exchanges. :)

Portrait of the Quince as an Older Woman

It waits in the basket, insouciant,
round of limb and buttock,
furry as a doe's back. Lay hold
and feel its heft and mass, how

it's boney as a skull. Wash it
and the down rubs off; scrub roughly till
the skin's alive and sheens with promise.
Choose the sharpest knife to reveal the core,

its coarse dry flesh will roll from the blade,
and resist unless the touch is firm. Persist, it must
be sliced, cut into pieces, for only then
will the body relent to open, soften.

Simmer in red wine or water,
with sugar and pips to help it set,
this tough fruit will burnish to a jellied rose,
with honey kiss. It takes new form.

The recipe's too onerous for those
whose appetites are raised on pluck and eat.
Aphrodite's food of love,
whose art is being lost.

Wise women know: give her time,
she'll gift her ruby harvest.
Praise the quince.