In order to have picked the fruits from the topmost branch of the pear tree, I had to use a stepping stool from the kitchen. I was short in stature of course and had reach higher by standing on my toes.
So to speed up the harvesting, I deftly plucked the pears with my left arm and gingerly dropped the fruits to the Paw’s green grass below.
The motion of harvesting was steady, almost mechanical going from high noon to a six o’clock direction.
But to Maw as she sat exhausted in the maroon-painted, redwood chair under the patio, she said out loud and within my hearing range:
You are an angel plucking fruits from the tree.
Indeed.
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