I'm not sure that I have ever seen fruit so abundant. The trees down our street and in town have been laden with apples, pears and plums. Really, it's hard not to be poetic about it. Some friends, the ones with the greatest number of pear trees, invited us to a pear picking party last weekend. While we were not the ones up in the trees shaking the branches, nor standing on the ground with a blanket to catch them, we were the beneficiaries of a bagful and are free to pluck now, when the need arises. It is rather silly, but my heart is filled with delight about all this fruit. What has been batches of apple strudel this past month is shifting to a pear strudel this morning. The dough is chilling and my tummy is rumbling.
The pear
Much like a poem
Is difficult to get
Just right.
Too mushy
And my desire
Is to spit it out
To rid myself of the texture and feel.
Too firm
And again
It is hard to swallow
To choke down at all.
Either way
One bite
Is enough.
But then, like words
The pear
Much like a poemIs difficult to get
Just right.
Too mushy
And my desire
Is to spit it out
To rid myself of the texture and feel.
Too firm
And again
It is hard to swallow
To choke down at all.
Either way
One bite
Is enough.
But then, like words
Well spoken
A pear
At the
perfect ripeness
Is
delightful
In its
complexity and
Simplicity
Letting
one’s taste buds
Feel the
abundance
Of freshness
just the
Right
balance of sweet
Rich in
texture
Delightful
to touch.
Made
Even better
through the
Picking
right from the tree.
