sweet peaches.

September in Santa Fe = peach bliss.  Our wonderful neighbors gifted us over 50 pounds of organic peaches. They also gave us at least 10 pounds of organic pears for Maizie and green fallen apples for the horses.  For me, this was a lesson of intention–I had no idea where to find boundless organic peaches that we could afford.  You see, I love peaches.  L-O-V-E them.  I could live on peaches, avocados, and pizza.  So every day, I thought about bushels of peaches.  Infinite baskets, boxes, and bags of ’em.  I dreamed of their watercolor skin and their ripe shape.  And one morning, my neighbor called. 

We ate peaches for breakfast, lunch, and dinner; even Maizie, with her one bottom tooth, managed to palm the fruit in her pudgy hands and bite into the fuzzy, slippery sweetness.  Every night I sunk into a peach coma–flushed cheeks, sticky breath, wild fleshy dreams–and I found that there is, in fact, a limit to how many peaches I can eat.