Trees NOW by Mary Reid Barrow

Persimmons, ‘possums, Captain John Smith and me by Mary Reid Barrow

My persimmon trees drop their burnt-orange fruits, with star-burst caps,  like surprise presents on my driveway on autumn mornings.  The fruits take special aim at the windshield wiper well on my car.  A bit worse,  a persimmon can truly make a sloppy mess if it’s stepped on and tracked it into the house.   Despite their untidiness,  there’s something special

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