GOD IS OFTEN A PEACH

November is my time of birthday feasting, but there is one sad note. Ripe off-the-tree peach season is over. No more pies, cobblers, or peaches with crème anglaise in a lake of berry sauces.

I lament that for all of them, but saddest of all my peachy indulgence the end of that most glorious of fruit, the white peach.