Tears in space

Dark Side of the Sun.
On one eight eight, I suffer,
Terry Pratchett loss.

GPS knows nothing, nor calendars neither.

I stand, cold,
Chin over the kitchen sink.
Watching diagonal rain sprinkle the winter garden.
And recreate a Provencal August day,
In an orchard's shadow.
With a bite,
Of ripe,
Pear.