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- 04/18/2024
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Apple Season - 1. Chapter 1
Abundance
hangs down low and heavy,
burdened with summer’s recollection
of dandelions glowing yellow, then fading
to blow away on a deep green breeze,
and of bees in the blooms
making love.
~ ~ ~
I sing a song of apples on the branch,
of baskets filled to avalanche,
and gloried, storied flavors everywhere,
a feast for senses, past compare.
If hunger pains I need to swiftly squash,
I’ll choose a shiny McIntosh;
but when a latticed pie I’d try to bake,
a Crispin is the one I’d take,
although a Northern Spy is also good
it’s rare within my neighborhood;
considering a press of cider sweet,
the Golden Russet is a treat;
whereas pure Jonathan makes applejack,
one eats its offspring Jonamac,
as well as the sweet, tangy Jonagold
which grows quite large, or so I’m told.
If what I want to have is applesauce,
Transparent Yellows are the boss,
though these today are quite a rarity
so use Macouns in parity.
Should you choose fruit to cook or store and save,
the Blacks from Arkansas you’ll crave;
and if you prize sweet moments reminiscent,
the Red Delicious apple isn’t.
~ ~ ~
The deer come
when September breathes in
and the high fruit falls into the grass
to roll underneath long-spent iris and tansy;
so must they search for hidden treasure
before it is stolen
by squirrels.
~ ~ ~
Where the flagstones end
stands a tree so old
its scions have great-grandchildren,
with bent branches gnarled
enough to defeat any
mathematical definition;
weather and wind keep it trimmed,
and though time has eaten away at the heart,
and its old bones bend low in the snow,
still its arms embrace earth and sky,
with fingers tracing ancient designs
– first pink, much later red –
against a crystal blue sky
filled with the robin’s song,
while cradling within its hidden depths
a family of groundhogs
which play amongst the violets and forget-me-nots
at its feet in the spring,
and gather its fallen bounty
when the leaves turn yellow and orange and flutter
like Monarchs on their journeys
to distant lands beyond the flagstones.
~ ~ ~
I tasted
an apple Eve knew not,
fruit equally forbidden as hers
yet so thrilling and sweet I remember its taste
long after I gulped it down in haste,
only to sour as shame
on my tongue.
~ ~ ~
The apple of my eye is passing fair,
more radiant than the sun upon the hill,
a-blush and rounded, ripe beyond compare,
enchanting in repose when all lies still.
I dare not touch the flesh or shining skin,
with sweetness all description will defy
to tell the tongue what pleasures lie within
which scandalize the senses in reply.
Yet how might mortals such as I resist
temptation dangling readily at hand,
and pluck that perfect body barely kissed,
who forms a feast both sensual and grand?
For he my core and consciousness have won,
while by his very taste am I undone.
~ ~ ~
Winter storms
coated our leafless branches
in splendid crystal to catch the sun
which reflected its rays and scattered the shadows
to welcome every eye with rainbows
and the promise of spring
as we melt.
Thank you for taking time to read these. I hope you enjoyed them. Any comments you may have are most welcome.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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