Skip, for skipper, on an old lemon turned to something else.
The old lemon has served various forms of life through the winter, at first as food and then as shelter, now as a platform for what may pass this way or rest in the sun.
Now it is spring proper and in spite of the worldwide failure of insect populations some, not many at all, are still showing up in the garden for respite from the surrounding desert.
A sign of the times, some forms of life are retreating as other forms advance. A global phenomenon now. Which is which not so important as the effect of either on the other forms, to some forms.
And then there is the space it all happens in. That sense of space in which everything settles into perspective, or disappears into nothing, whatever it may be or represent.
Time to skip the bitters. And listen to the silence.