Pear Planting

Pear Planting
January mud seeps
through my jeans
where I kneel in the orchard.
I scrape and cup
loose soil
pulling damp handfuls
from the planting hole.
My fingers break
into an old gopher hole
— double layer of chicken wire there–
I hold
the bareroot whip of wood
like a stick figure
and scoot dirt around roots
firming and filling
each crevice.
An earthy scent of moist soil
rises.
Then, a thick blanket
of composted fall leaves,
old hay
and horse manure.
The roots will wait.
Their spring sleeping
in winter’s warmth.

Thank you to The Poetry Palace for selecting this poem as Inspiration of the Week.  I am thrilled!
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11 thoughts on “Pear Planting

  1. Annette — this is turning out to be one of my favourite exercises. I am loving the idylls.So much sensory imagery in yours that I can feel and smell it. The simple act of planting, such a lovely action.margo

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