The other day as I perused the back yard shifting from autumn expression into winter demeanor, I paused to look up at a chittering flock of sparrows that have been spending the chilly nights in the shelter of the neighbor’s house-side trellised vines. Something very gold caught my eye at the top of the almost leafless tree under which I was standing. The treasure happened to be one huge, very ripe pear, way up high, which somehow had withstood the challenges of wind and rain and many cold nights. I whispered, “Come to me,” and gently shook the branches.
It did come down! Quickly! Almost on my head. I missed the catch and it landed with a firm plunk against a paving stone. Its slender neck had been pecked by some passing bird and a hoard of venturesome ants must have smelled the delicacy and steadfastly inched their way all those feet above the ground to claim their prize, which I then purloined as my own. I shook the slightly bruised piece of fruit, bidding the ants elsewhere, and then washed it off at the well head, marveling that the flesh was tender but not spoiled.
Inside, at the stainless-steel sink, I peeled and cored the grapefruit-size globe and then sautéed the slices with pu-erh tea, candied ginger and cinnamon. The toothsome scent invigorated the air of the kitchen and then permeated the entire house, an intense signaling of the end of fall and the rise of much longer nights. The last pear of the season! A treat to eat. Delicious. Unforgettable. Ahhhhhh….
~ LJ