In bright summer
we picked peaches for hours, for days
each tree a dense house of hungry bees
and birds, dipping fingers into the sweetness
of now against the time when there would be none
Every farmer knows scarcity; every farmer knows hope
this is the lesson my father taught me
walking for hours behind his jenny mule
standing in the doorway waiting for rain
praying over his field and our food and
sometimes, over me
box turtle road 
Love it. I so miss the days of picking peaches with dad. He would get so excited, slice up a peach in the orchard and share it with me. “Lisa, you’ve got to have a bite of this one”, he would say.
Never worked in the peach shed though. I bet that was an experience!
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Love you, sis.
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