One time we went to an orchard to pick peaches. They were round and fuzzy, ripe with the sweetness that comes from months in the sun and air. The kids each carried baskets, and tried to fill them without bruising the fruit. A few did drop, but the ground was soft. There were fewer peaches on the lower branches, since people before us came for the same reason. I glimpsed the ones in the top limbs, but had no way to get my fingers on them. I could choose to be frustrated about the lack of a ladder, or content myself with the peaches within reach. Even if it meant more walking between rows of trees. 

 

We weighed our bounty and paid cash for the privilege of deliciousness. They provided dessert for several weeks. Much longer than the minutes it took to harvest them.

 

The man I ran into the other day talked to me about things he cannot change. Politics is one. Society is another. It is tempting to completely ignore the abundance of ways he can effect a difference, by keeping his eyes on ways he can't. No amount of ranting will alter the proceedings of congress, or the manipulations of big oil. But there are interactions he has control over. Criticism. Efforts to control his wife. Grumblings about his neighbors.

 

In resisting those tendencies he has immediate access to sweetness. Gratitude. Peacefulness. And in contrast to peaches, the season for benevolence lasts all year.