the Golden Peaches of Samarkand

in praise of the humble quince

I have been in love with quinces for about sixty years, I think, so I am delighted to report that this year it feels as though I’ve been up to my ears in them. For once, the marauding possums directed their attentions elsewhere, and though the red-rumped (auto-correct wanted to call them “rumpled”) parrots have nibbled a few, most of the crop has escape…