#16 Late Harvest

Pick your own.
We ate as many as went into our baskets.
Sweet, sticky juice
running down faces and hands.
The bees dined
on fallen fruit
fermenting beneath our feet.
It was warm in early September sun and
we wandered through the quiet orchard,
bearing peaches, bearing us.

I wonder if those days,
that I planted my whole self into,
are bearing any fruit now.
Are the memories growing on trees
or trampled beneath their feet.