The Pear Tree

I climb.

Limb from limb.

Leaves brushing against my white skin from the winter freeze.

My hands numb. 

I don’t care.

I stop and look out into the world.

I can just see the river flowing gently,

As gently as a feather slowly drifting down to the ground.

I taste one of the pears.

Juicy and crunchy like twigs snapping.

Nothing but silence, and serenity.

My feet scarred and bruised.

I don’t care.

I look back at my home old and rattled.

I don’t need it.

This is my home.