She sallies from the porch drenched in sunlight, her hat down, hanging along her back. Her hair is plaited and shimmers like some ancient fresh mined metal. Not quite gold, not quite copper, it is almost like a field of wheat, and a late summer breeze catches loose ends to bring wisps in a halo about her face.

I am standing against a support pillar on the porch admiring God’s fine handiwork at the way her waist nips in where her apron is tied. I am lost in this reverie as her face lights into a smile, and she makes a break for the orchard. I amble along behind her. Leaving the lawn, I go through the tall grass toward the orchard, keeping a distance so as to observe her delightful movements toward the trees.

This song completely goes with this story. I like to think that we were writing it at the same time because this is exactly what I was hearing when I wrote it. ~Love~

These will be about the last of the peaches and nectarines we will get this season. Already, further up the hill, apples are beginning to fall. This week we will need to start picking. My mind wanders to pressing cider and watching her in the kitchen peeling seemingly endless bushels for apple butter, pies, turnovers, crepes.

She is up on a ladder reaching for a perfect golden-hued Augustine. These are her favorites and we were lucky to get a graft from a friend in Grenada. The air stirs her skirt and it clings more tightly about her legs, hindering her somewhat. She reaches down to disentangle herself and descends, peach carefully cradled in her right hand. Her joy is effervescent and infectious. She turns in profile as she bites into that peach.

I move closer, smiling, and notice juice dripping down to her elbow. Her eyes are a mellifluent cascade of enjoyment conveyed to me through the angle of late afternoon sunlight, and as she takes another bite and another her transmission of utter ecstasy only grows. As you can imagine, by this point I am nearly overcome with desire to tumble her to the ground, kissing and licking all that peach juice off of her buttermilk soft skin. I, however, wait until she flicks the pit away.

Grass and dirt stick to the wet spots along her fingers and arms as I tackle her in a frenzy. She pays no mind, still smiling, knowing her seduction was successful. We are overcome by the indefinable energies of the farm, the mountains, the basin, the sunshine, the orchard, the grass, the ants. Every living thing breathes and beats in our rhythm. Our union is a simplicity and wisdom lost from the world for so long. We are blessed to return to these moments of singularity and the organizing principles of life on Earth. Paradise is found in the confluence of all these factors and the perfection of a single peach whose abundance lent us genuine love.


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