Fields of diamonds, glinting yellow, white, blue. Precious pearls rolling down angled chutes. The Papa Tree freshly suited - no, not suited, far too constrained - freshly apparelled vibrantly, with rain-patched darkened elephant's skin. Proud bearer of candlabras perfect and creamy pink, and honey scented, oh, so sweetly, beckoning, inviting. And Mama Tree comely and discreet. And I nearly missed - how could I? - those dangling earrings tucked behind the lobed leaves - those so-soft, so-new garments. And the unfurling fronds open their upside down hands time-lapsed. No hurry. Washed, cleaned, welcoming.