Standing at the Trailhead of Winter

I thought it only appropriate to write June's poem about cherries since I spent several days of the month picking the small, juicy fruit. From those cherries, I made a cobbler that my brother completely enjoyed, letting everyone at the dinner table know this by the look of sheer delight on his face and the mmmmmm's he made with each bite. From those cherries, I made a peace offering to the mother of Funny Delightful Son's girlfriend (long story--kind of funny but at the same time not so funny--which I will write about soon). I haven't received any response from her concerning the cherries, but I did hear from Funny Delightful Son that she made a pie from them the day she received them. From those cherries, I bartered with a friend, giving her some in exchange for greens from her garden. And from those cherries, I made jam. Sweet, pie-filling in a jar jam that I have shared with Lovely Beautiful Daughter and good friends. The cherry tree provided a bounty to us this seas...

This pear tree, along with a towering oak, were the only two trees in a swath of grass next to the cornfield. Both were beautiful trees, but the pear tree captured my heart. Look at how much fruit the tree bears. Look at the limbs bent from the weight of the pears. And the rosy skin on some just beckons one to pick and sink her teeth into the flesh. I didn't, though, thinking because of how close the tree is to the corn, it may have received a misting of pesticide if the field had been sprayed. Maybe not, but I wasn't going to take a chance.