The mist is strong today, little pinpricks as I walk along, stroll the streets of my neighborhood in fog, gray and cold, which brings out the greens. I come upon a mother and two young sons, taking pears from a tree in their yard. The boys are helping with their toy rakes. One says look at how many pears are on this tree, this tree which is not very big, and it is true. The tree is small, and pears are everywhere. Peas have fallen into the yard, and rolled into the street and are piled in a box on the step, and still the tree, which is not very big, is full, and the mother is picking pears. I am informed that one of the pears had the perfect hole of a beak, and that the deer are enjoying eating them, and the ants. The mother doesn't look thrilled about the ants.
They offer me pears from the box. I take two, one for each hand, and walk along balanced with the roundness just right for the shape of my palms, and the neck reaches out like the touch of neighbors one has just met. I am someone wandering by and now I have pears, flesh, friends.
The two pears sit now on my desk, not ready yet to eat. If I could paint, they would be perfect, one a little larger than the other, a frost of pink, a stem, and the light is gathered, creamed.
I am reminded now of one Easter when I was walking along and I saw the Easter Bunny, a huge bunny, and he asked if I wanted a hug, and I did. Life is like that, rich.