Falling as a Pear

I decide it is time.
The pears are ripe, my friends
await those sweet white wedges
swimming in their syrup bath.
With tree-climbing shoes laced
and picking bag slung over shoulder
I head out. Pulling myself
up into the first crotch I remember,
(my hands complaining of the rough bark)
- as children we liked the apple better...
the trunk smoother, more friendly,
the branches not so willing to grab
our hair, our clothing. This time
it takes fierceness and physics
to get myself up there.
I liked strength better but then I'm up and oh
the leaves are soft with life,
a bower of green, laced
and ruched against the wide blue arc
of sky, the sun trails warm fingers across my face, my arms, whispering
little love songs in my ears...
Eager, I gather those green weights
into my cupped hands, into the heart of my bag.

One last pear, suspends itself alone
crown jewel at the end of a branch.
Reaching out to its beauty I forget
who I am and find my weight slipping
then dropping slow-fast, aborted flight
and at long last slam
into the ground. Planted thus
in my wholeness
I lie looking up to see laid over me
green beauty, blue blessing.

©  Gyllian Davies  Sept 15, 2009.