I’m on my knees among the crisp brown crunch
then stand       in time to see
two boys       slim teens in shorts       white t-shirts
faces glowing       talking quietly
bounce of a tennis ball fading as they pass
and I’m filled again
with a crush of old sweetness
at how giving a moment can be       as it vanishes
the roughened grey branches of the pear
small knobby fingers flung out at every tip
fresh clutch of weeds at my chest
~Rosie King “Again” from Time and Peonies

Sometimes this feeling hits me – like a blow to the chest taking away my breath – how time passes so swiftly. The flow of days takes bare knobby pear branches in March to April’s fragrant buds and blossoms, to May’s swelling fruit to harvest in late summer, then prepared for storage of its sweetness to be consumed in the dark of winter.
Another year and crop of pears gone – just like that.

In a flash of recognition, I try to grasp and clutch this realization to my heart and in one heartbeat it vanishes, leaving a residue of “what was” in the midst of “what is” while on the horizon is “what will be.”

Each year, I place our pears in a bottle (so to speak) –
actually jars and dehydrator –
it is so much easier than preserving the vanishing
hours, days and years.

I breathe in deeply and think:
How much this moment gives and takes.
How crushed I am by its sweetness.