THE BODY OF THE EARTH
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.
-Jeannette at Bread on the Water
Gladsome Lights 
I rely on you, dear Gretchen, for better morning news than the national, or even local, reporters provide. You don’t disappoint. This poem is just ripe for me to enjoy today.
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“Eating them before they know they have been plucked”!
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The abundant fruits of summer are one of the many things I love about this time of the year.
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I couldn’t write this same poem this year…our pear tree is empty and the apples are few, though the figs alone could bring me to song. I made and processed five pints of fig chutney the other morn.
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