Beyond the Orchard
I had never paid much attention to the forest beyond the orchard. I should have.
Before the harvest rolled around each year, I could feel the weight of thick pears in my hands as if my skin could remember years that had passed. The Old Farmer and I had an arrangement. I worked all spring and summer, on weekends and after school, to bring the pear trees to bloom. For my effort I was rewarded with the first pick, even before the marketeers who awarded his pears with first place every autumn since as long as I could remember.