Cold-Weather Musing: Peach Heat

Summer burned the peaches

We stopped to swipe

In Chilton County.

The first quivered

And fell into my open hand,

The weight of the sun,

Russet, pink, and orange,

Hazy with down.

You bit into the cleft,

And I stole a stare,


My mother Bunny was Dad’s one-and-only “Georgia Peach.” But how he took to Alabama fruit once they moved to Birmingham. Every summer he trekked to Chilton County to pick and pick, peach after peach, weekend after weekend, for the pleasure of putting up sweet jam to spread on fluffy biscuits on Christmas morning. My memory still tastes the wonder.


  1. Elizabeth Mathews

    Beautiful, Catherine. I’m so glad to be on your list to ready your poetry and other stories. This is a breathtakingly beautiful poem. Thank you for sharing. I especially love to hear about your dad and Bunny.

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