July 30th, 2002

caillebotte_man at his window

(no subject)

In the night, I hear the sprinklers in the orchard. Aside from the chunk-chunk-chunk sound they make, I could imagine that I am listening to rainfall. The water rustles the leaves and drips to the grass that spreads beneath the trees. I picture it being cool there, and full of small creatures. There must be snails and earthworms, spiders on webs jeweled with water droplets. Undoubtedly there are moles and gophers, field mice and rats, and perhaps a toad or two, and some slithering snakes. The raccoons might pass through, as well. Once, a few years ago, there might have been foxes, but I don't think they come around anymore.

The damp and earthy scent floats through the night on the soft breeze, making the warm air seem cooler. The late rising moon is too dim now to illuminate the scene at this distance, but I listen to the artificial rain out there in the darkness. It almost makes up for the absence of a nearby stream to listen to in this dry year, and provides a pleasant reminder of the greatly anticipated real rains that will come in a few months- we hope.
caillebotte_man at his window

Paean to Thirteen Peaches

In one corner of the yard, there is a small peach tree. I mean, the tree and its peaches are both small. This year, the crop was small, too. Last year, there were close to a hundred peaches on the tree, but they weren't very good. This year, the total was thirteen. For some reason, the quality of fruit produced by this tree is inversely proportional to the amount. Those thirteen peaches were excellent. They were firm, with a creamy texture, juicy, but not dripping, with just the right amount of sugar, and a flavor that was the essence of peach. There is never anything like them in the stores. This tree is proof that, sometimes, less is indeed more. Picked fresh and eaten still warm from the sun, they were like little nuggets of summer encased in soft, velvety skins, as refreshing as the stored-up rains and possessed of a fragrance as sweet as the spring blossoms whose promise they fulfilled. If the perfect day of the best summer ever had a flavor, it would be the flavor of those peaches. The cherries this year were few and flavorful, as well, but those peaches were amazing. They were worthy of a painting by Monet.