We planted a pear tree near the back gate. Through the summer we watered it and dreamed of a life in Johnson Canyon, red rocks and sage trees to color our lives.
The nights are tinged with coolness now and the pear tree a golden brown. Our dream fades into that place where dreams winter because they are, after all, an illusion.
Next year pears will grace the branches, reminding me of the possibility of dreams, some to be forgotten and others becoming as real as the taste of cool fruit in my mouth.
Emily Florence
