Under the Pear Tree
A backyard full of ripe fruit trees towards the end of summer is an interesting place to be. Rotten pieces litter the ground and patches of grass are beginning to yellow. There is a certain peace in the aura of the late summer but also the slightest stench of fruit juice and wildfire smog drifting through the air. Why do things get heavy when the season starts to mellow? Things fall apart but then they get patched back together, but does that always happen? I look at the piles of pears and plums before me and the hundred or so still hanging down above my head. I see that many are scarred, a few have holes, and some are almost perfect. One pear stands out to me as I think of all that has happened in the past four years of my life. Four summers ago I was a completely different person. Senior year of college with a few close friends who treated me well. Thinking back on it now my life could probably be equated to a pear that fell before the right time and became damaged by all its surroundings.
