Returned once again to this ole Pear Tree. There it stands, in the midst of Ravenna, in a park, nestled between a willow and another pear tree. I return often now because it's hard to find a good place to rest when you're out in the city. It's funny when you realize the places you always go are those places that become your home away from home.
So, this Monday, I returned again with my sail cloth bag, and I walked the field until the time was just right for the picking. The pears this week were much larger, and riper, and harder to reach. The crows and the bees were enjoying them, and to my surprise, no one else in the park came or went for a pear while I was there. An old man came close to the tree as he tried to keep pace with his two young grandsons. Instead, they opted for a game of hide and seek underneath the willow tree. It was a lovely sight to have seen their memory in the making. Him in his straw hat and them eagerly hiding in wait underneath the mystery of the willow tree.
At last I made my descent, and picked what I could of this pear tree and a few from its neighbor. Pears are funny as they won't ripen until they've been picked. I wish I had more fruit trees in my life. Maybe one day. Because, what beats fruit on a tree?