The green pears

Still remember the smell of green on the lawn in front of houses, where the neighborhood was gathering every day and the branches of the pear replaced the sky. She, this pear was grace, an oasis in the middle of the meadow. It gave us a shadow, it gave us a cool, without asking for anything in return. Under the tree, we, the children we were gathering strength for new games. We were lying down on the grass and through the branches we watched the sky burn. And our grandmothers, from the heat of the summer he hid again they talked, the time was over and ran home when darkness fell. In autumn we picked wild pears, tart-sweet, with aroma. And then we drank sips of the pear tree, with an amber color.