seethingblue's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Pears Weeds, with roots like kite strings, have erupted from the ground where you once planted Perilla, and Japanese plums that became the color of charcoal with the early frost. Last summer, you led me across dirt and broken gravel, to a downtown marketplace. The sky milked the landscape a honey brown, the color of Shingo pears, your homeland�s sacred fruit. They are the taste, you told me once, of crystal sweetness, with less seeds than the Bartlett and Bosc, often mistaken for the color of dead. In autumn, I can only find Anjou pears in the produce aisle and they are, bruised with pliable undersides, impregnated and slowly, rotting away. 15:08 - 11 December, 2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||