The fig tree puts forth her green figs, and the vines are tender with fragrant grapes. Saffron, calamus and cinnamon all rejoice in this union, though it is purely imaginary. If all other scraptures were to die, to drown or burn in conflagration, to freeze in the steppes of unknown wilderness where no light comes, this would still be the holy of holies, and the earthly flame would leap to catch and be subsumed into the heavenly beings of light.