Dean and I thought we had picked all the pears from our tree by mid-September. We store them in the basement refrigerator, so we can take them out one or two at a time, to ripen on the kitchen counter, and eat them all the coming winter and spring long. But today, a rainy windy November day, we found one fallen on the gravel driveway, one that we must have missed, hidden in the branches, its nylon footie still in place, a little gash in its bottom from where it fell, otherwise intact. We cut it open, divided it into quarters on a plate between us before dinner. It's white flesh so sweet, so buttery, so granular, so perfect. Ah -- to find a ripe pear amid the cold and dark of an evening. And to share it. A gift.
Went to hear Rigo, Rick, and Oliver read at UW tonight. A special presentation by the Ethnic Studies Department. A good reading. The highlights for me: Rigo's three linked sonnets (which he later jokingly referred to as a "tiara" rather than "crown" of sonnets). Rick's "Magnolia," which was a long run-on sentence; and his poem based on a Yoko Ono art video from the 60's (where her clothes are being cut off her body onstage). Oliver's new poems "About the Strawberry" and "Jose the Liar" ("Pants on Fire!" ~grin~) from the stories of Filipino farm workers. Chatted a bit with some UW MFA and Eng Lit students, as well as Jean9 and Jennifer D. Dark and rainy for the ride home. Fall has really fell, eh?