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Bite into a peach—

and taste and see the goodness of the Lord. How blessed is the person who trusts in him. Psalm 34:8

The simplicity of this photo touches me: three pears, one attached to its leafy branch, one sitting on its bottom, and one sliced open, revealing its seeds and the creamy white of its fruit. Next to it lays the wood-handled knife on a plank table. A close look at the photo’s composition reveals its artistry and significance.

Featured within are four items, the number for wholeness, for balance that frames the viewer’s experience—a grounding that compels its evolution, accompanied by warm inner stirrings.

Next comes the selection of color: the yellows, dull and limish; the browns, dark and rustic; the greens, pointed and jaded; and the whites, luminous and milky. Subtle shadows set off the pears and spark desire to touch their coarse skins, to experience their sweetness.

Their stems resemble cut umbilical cords, its fruits, now on their own.  

Sharp angles contrast with roundness for added drama. The worn appearance of the knife and table suggest seasoned hands that know foods, their preparation, and presentation.

So much for my impressions of this photo.

It also speaks to my present circumstances. The first pear suggests my having been cut off from the tree of health; the second, my ripening; and the third, the cutting/transition and full revelation of my sweetness.

For the present, my ripening morphs into simplicity and I’m grateful…

Excitement buzzed outside my window this morning. It was Independence Day, its spirit given expression by masked neighbors standing around the lemonade stand. Upon it sat the blue cooler, cups, and the moneybox. No matter the oppressive heat and humidity. Soon to be eight-year-old Sloane, her brunette hair in a topknot, had initiated this gathering, supported by her parents, and it was well underway when I picked up their hilarity. Her brother Clark, barefoot and looking taller since last month, helped dispense the lemonade to the thirsty.

Toddlers milled circles around grandparents, hugged their thighs, then took off again; a dad sat in a folding chair stroking the tanned back of his daughter; Sloane made a sign affixed to a pole for passing motorists; a T-shirted mother pushed a stroller with her newborn, another curly-haired toddler at her side; other kids, in helmets, on scooters, stopped by—a whirligig of animation.

Covid threat or not, nothing could damper my neighbors’ enthusiasm. From behind colorful masks, laughter lifted spirits, released tension, deepened camaraderie—a much-needed tonic to ward off the pervading gloom.

It will pass, in time…

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