on the wobbly wooden

on the wobbly wooden

ladder, craning to pick pears

with a twist of the wrist

Cloudy but no rain, wide cracks in the ground like thirsty mouths. Mid-August, but already leaves are starting to turn yellow and red and drift down. A few days ago I saw a line of wild geese, strung out like a line full of carefully spaced clothespins, heading west.
          Today I find a pear on the ground, half eaten by a deer. These are Kieffer pears, with greenish gold skins and crisp, white flesh. The red blush and the fact that they're starting to fall from the tree means it's time to harvest. It's easy to reach the pears hanging on the lower branches but I have to climb the wobbly wooden ladder to reach the pears dangling at the top of the tree. Being careful not to fall myself, I lean and stretch from the top step to gather each firm fruit with a twist of the wrist and drop it in my basket. This is the first year this pear tree has borne fruit and I'm pleased to collect four baskets full. I will slice and dry some of them, but the rest will keep all winter in the bottom bin of the refrigerator.