We picked the last peach today.
I didn’t realize they would be gone so quickly. I left them on the tree as long as I could as if somehow they would miraculously be given extended life, go on for as long as I wanted.
I lost about half of the production to fruit drop. Animals got to them on the ground.
I thought there were more. I was going to bring the rest in today, put them in a bowl, savor them slowly.
There was one left when I went out into the misty, cool morning yard.
Miles said, “Can I have it?”, never having wanted any that I offered before until now, until the last one.
We shared it, dripping, juicy, cool from the morning air, superlatively sweet, the last peach of August.