It is October

The thing about pears is that they were never meant to live in isolation. They require community. Even when said in the singular their name implies company. Try to say "pear" without saying "pair." Can't be done. And pears grow to rely on a sister or lover or friend. Their bodies ripen with an expectation there is someone to lean against, to spoon, to hold onto, someone with whom to share October.

I have often said

that I love Scully

all the time.

But I love her

even more

in October.