the peaches ripen now
the beginning of summer
we work fast
to protect what we can of this small
crop from a single tree
trimming back
the branches
where they encroach
on the neighbor’s roof
covering it with a net
in an attempt
to keep birds and
rats and squirrels
[all the same genus as far
as i am concerned when
it comes to this tree]
from making short work of
the fruit
picking a handful
that are ripe
or almost there
eating a single
peach while on the ladder
holding it in my work gloves
and biting into the soft flesh
not caring how the juice runs down
my chin or glistens on my leather fingers
tossing the pit into the open can
and thinking that i’ve never
tasted a peach that good
and knowing it may be
the sun [browning my neck]
doing the talking
Words and Feathers 
love the ending. the brown on a neck reminds me of my father coming in from working outside. always outside:)
Thanks. It’s what I get for not putting on sunscreen. š”<- sunburn, not grumpy
Incredible! Good golly. Especially from the peach eating down.
Thanks very much!
Oh, you have captured it perfectly! I would say more, but I must dash to the market for some Carolina peaches now – they must be ready! (Marvelous poem!)
Thanks very much. I hope I can fend of the squirrels long enough to get a pie out of it.
Save me a piece – on my way… š
Exceptional prose. So Wendell Berry-ish.
Now I have to look him up!
Berry’s “Do Not be Ashamed” has a bit of Crow in there.
I’ll check it out. I just read “The Apple Tree” and was very impressed. Thank you for the comparison. š¹
My pleasure — truly. ā¤
Love this, especially the closer.
Thanks!