The body of earth,
our patch of garden,
makes mottled pears and
raspberry red juice run up thorny vines.
Flat white flowers turn
into strawberries.
Slowing down
time will come
a flutter of falling leaves,
short waves of heat,
strong winds,
migrating birds.
The fruits of summer,
stung by the wasps,
bitten by the squirrels,
will be gone.
Today the figs are still plumping
purple lines of sugar.
Apples sun their cheeks
for just a bit more color.
I like them all best
standing on the skin of dirt,
eating them before they know
they have been plucked.
6 comments:
What vibrant words to make me salivate...this is perfect harvest time!
What a lovely poem! Great way for me to start the day by reading that.
I can almost smell it! Wonderfully evocative.
Thank you, these are lovely words to brighten a day.
I have been amiss at checking the blogs, but will try and do better. Beautiful words Jeanette. Cheers!
fresh! inspiring! the crust is incredible! sounds like home! 😘
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