I must confess to stealing a fruit from a Chinese Bitter Orange tree on a South Carolina plantation many years ago. I need to bare my soul of picking the little citrus and stuffing it into my bra.
I forgot about this stolen cargo until late that night, as I was changing my clothes the shriveled little fruit fell out and rolled across the floor.

Why I felt the need to steal seeds from such a mean little tree is beyond me. I think I was impressed by its long, sharp thorns.

Now I have two mean trees of my own. With equally long and strong thorns.

No fruit yet.
Such is the life of a plant addict. A pinch here…a pick there…

Stashing precious cargo in pockets and undergarments.

Such are the crimes of the afflicted.

FLOW