Eating pears every day here in my little house in the middle of the desert…so it becomes a taste of a time, of a chapter. Biting into a slice as I’m standing at the window watching the wind dance across the dunes. The flavor floods and coats my mouth with a subtle hint of grainy white sweetness. This taste becomes part of my days, part of the view. It’s become woven into the sand and the wind so much so that next time I eat a pear and I’m not here, I’ll wonder why there isn’t sand in my teeth.
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