In late August
the plums that began as tiny green ovals
that I could only see through my binoculars
suddenly turn plump and deep purple
and begin to fall and fall and fall
in my overgrown back yard
as if there was no tomorrow
and I crawl in the grass
trying to catch them as they try
to roll away
and hide behind the hedges and ferns, tree trunks
and rose bushes, the flower pots and push mowers
the spindly legs of tables and chairs
and when I finally get lucky
and one rolls inside my outstretched hand
I give it a tender squeeze
to make sure it is the right consistency
not too squishy, not pecked in half
no deep slits in the tender skin
for an army of ants to crawl into
before I put them in my bucket
for my dear friend Linda
“I bear you and you bear me,” she’s often said.
I collect plums for my dear friend
so she can make plum jam
a sweet and savory heavenly mixture
one jar for her and one jar for me.
—
Wendy Feuer is a retired teacher of reading and writing at the local community college and now she savors the days she can spend outdoors hiking with friends/family, gardening, reading books beneath her twin plum trees.
