I’ve just eaten a delicious ripe pear for supper. No trace of it left apart from lingering taste, the memory, and the stalk that remained on the side of the plate and – you know how it is – set me wondering.
This little dry stalk began life pushing through the bark of a twig on a branch of a pear tree somewhere in sunshine, and sometimes in rain. Soon a tiny, hard, rounded fruit began to take shape, swelling slowly but surely, drawing nourishment into itself through the little stalk, up through the roots and trunk and branches and twigs of the tree, which were connected with the clouds in the sky above and quite deeply with the crust on the surface of the Earth, which had itself come forth from the Cosmos billions of years earlier, the searching roots reaching down through food sources in the Earth’s rocks and soil and moisture that were the remains of earlier rocks and soil and moisture and roots and trunks and branches and leaves and twigs and stalks that had lived their lives reaching heavenwards towards sunlight, and sometimes rain.
Eventually parted from direct physical connection to the tree that reached into the depths of billions of years, the fruit ripened during the course of the last few days becoming lush and juicy and very, very tasty. And I ate it at supper this evening, half an hour or so ago, and it was very good, and I am deeply thankful for the connection the pear gave me to the stalk, the leaves, the twigs, the branches, the trunk, the roots, the Earth and the sky and the Cosmos and the LIFE that sustains each and all. The little dry stalk – once the all important channel of provision for what was to become a beautiful fruit – will now go on to take its place in the earth and in moisture, and the resurrecting cycle begins all over again. And so I still wonder – and worship.