I planted peach trees and they grew with me…

I cooed to this blossom…I sang it a lullaby

I put my cheek on the fuzz of the fruit…felt it fatten up

Everything about them was pretty and promising.  I spread coffee grounds around the trunk of the tree to keep the ants away.  I propped their branches as they grew too heavy for themselves.

I didn’t spray chemicals on them…the birds and bugs took their share.  There was plenty to spare.

I ate the pie my sister made me for my birthday with the first harvest…

During a rare rain, we all stood in the downpour, drenching…listening to the juicy laugh of peaches.

I know the girlish smell of their April, the lush swell of their July…how they let go in August.

Peaches in their delicious dripping…peaches drying out as summer starts falling.

I have a picture of a peach rotting on the ground covered in ants that I’m not putting here.

The hour of soft light late in summer tastes like ripe peaches…yes, exactly like that.  I savor that thought of my little orchard at Pond House.